


Draw Me a Love Story

by Ero_Haru (EroHaru), looktotheskies, meils121



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, M/M, Recovery, Small Towns, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 13:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16305779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EroHaru/pseuds/Ero_Haru, https://archiveofourown.org/users/looktotheskies/pseuds/looktotheskies, https://archiveofourown.org/users/meils121/pseuds/meils121
Summary: Discharged from the army, missing an arm, and dealing with PTSD, Bucky moves to a small town upstate to start again.  He ends up working in an art supply store, taking up embroidery, and falling head over heels for single dad Steve, a local artist who spends a suspicious amount of time picking out sketchbooks and pencils.Being a single parent is not for the weak, faint of heart, or for anyone who likes sleep.  But Steve wouldn’t trade being the dad of three year old Emmy for the world.  He just wishes he could have a few conversations that aren’t about Disney princesses and legos.  Too bad he screws up big time when he meets Bucky.It takes a few missteps, some awkward conversations, and several coffee dates, but Steve and Bucky just might have found what they’re looking for.





	1. Art: Ero-Haru

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been quite the labor of love! I'm so excited to get to share it with everyone - and extra excited to share the artwork that the most amazing artists made to accompany it! 
> 
> A big thank you to Ero - your art captured Bucky and Emmy so wonderfully, and you picked one of my favorite scenes to illustrate!  
> A big thank you to childofwintre - you added such sweet details with Emmy's drawing, and I love it!  
> Please make sure you leave lots of lovely comments for the artists - they really helped bring this fic to life!
> 
> Thank you to my lovely beta, Brianna - thanks for making sure this fic is readable and makes sense!  
> Thank you to the mods of the CA Big Bang - this has been an amazing experience and I can't wait to do it again next year!


	2. ChildofWintre




	3. Chapter 3

            Early morning in Warren is Bucky’s favorite time of day.  It’s a sleepy little town to begin with - the reason why he moved there in the first place - but right as the sun is rising is particularly quiet.  He likes to go on his runs then, get them out of the way before there are too many people out in the streets. 

            Some habits are hard to kick, and he still changes up his run every day.  He knows that it’s pretty damn unlikely anyone’s following him, but he’s not ready to take that chance.  Not yet.  Maybe not ever, but Bucky doesn’t like to think about that too much. 

            Today’s run takes him down a looping street by the lake.  The water’s one of the reasons he chose Warren over some other quiet little all-American town.  He likes running by the lake, likes coming down here at dusk too and watching the sun start to set over the water.  After too long deployed overseas, too long staring at endless stretches of sand and dirt, he’s happy to see greens and blues in the landscape.

            He runs ten miles every day.  Most people would call him crazy, and they’d be right for other reasons, but Bucky likes the challenge.  He enjoys the burn in his lungs and the way his legs wobble slightly afterwards.  It reminds him that he’s still here.  

            After the run, though, is the hard part.  He and showers still aren’t friends.  Something about being naked and vulnerable in a small space has his heart racing and his mind calculating how he’s going to fight back should someone break in.  His VA therapist would say he needs to think about how likely that is to happen, but Bucky doesn’t like odds.  He also didn’t like the VA therapist. 

            So he takes a quick shower, just enough to get clean, and gets dressed before heading downstairs to get a bite to eat.  He doesn’t cook much these days.  Part of him misses it, but most of the time his brain just isn’t up to it.  So he pops a bagel in the toaster and remembers to rescue it before it gets too burnt.  

            He’s - presentable, at least.  Functioning.  At least on the outside, and that’s the part that matters right now.  The few people he’s met in Warren just think he’s a bit odd, a bit quiet, and that’s the way Bucky likes it.  He doesn’t need the whole town gossiping about the Army vet that made it back from overseas but left most of his mind behind.  

            Maybe moving back to the city would have been smarter, but Bucky doesn’t do so hot with loud noises anymore.  Or sudden noises.  Or - well, noises in general.  Along with a whole laundry list of other things he tries not to think about too much.  So moving home is out and Warren is far enough from Brooklyn to be a hike but not so far that he can’t head home if this is all a horrible mistake. So Warren is Bucky’s home for now, his safe(ish) place.

            Bucky doesn’t trust himself with cars right now.  Besides, work is only a few blocks away, up on Main Street, and it’s not a bad walk.  Bucky can do it in about fifteen minutes. 

            The art store is one of those places that Bucky would probably never walk into on his own, but he needed a job, and Muse was close to home and quiet - bonus points for the last one, if you asked Bucky.  His boss likes to play classical music turned down low, just enough that the notes weave their way around Bucky like a soft blanket.  He knows he sounds like somebody’s grandpa, but he can’t stand loud music.

            Muse is an interesting place.  Clint - his boss, although the man doesn’t seem to function much better than Bucky does most days - is an odd character.  He says he’s from the circus, and Bucky can’t tell if that’s the truth or not.  Clint likes knitting, late spring warmth be damned, and there’s always a few of his projects around the store.  

            The back wall of the store is covered in skeins of yarn.  The rest of it, though, leans more towards the sort of things you need to draw and sketch and paint.  Bucky doesn’t know much about this stuff, but when he told Clint as much, Clint shrugged and told him that the people who could tell would know what they were looking for, and the rest wouldn’t know they’d gotten bad advice.  Bucky can’t say it’s the most convincing advice he’s ever received, but if Clint’s not worried, Bucky’s not going to add another thing to stress about to his list.  He’s got enough on that list already.

            “We got a new shipment in.”  Clint calls out in greeting as Bucky walks into the store.  It takes Bucky a moment to place where his voice is coming from, though he soon narrows in on the armchair near the yarn that Clint put there - “for customers”, as he told Bucky, even if they are both well aware of the truth.  “Wanna help?”

            “I -”  Bucky starts, only to be cut off by Clint.

            “Shit.  Your arm.  Didn’t even think of it.”  Clint’s standing now, his knitting carefully folded over the edge of the chair.  “I can get it.”

            Bucky bites back an annoyed growl.  He knows Clint’s just trying to be respectful.  “I can handle it.”  He says and forces a smile when Clint appraises him.  “The Army spent good money on getting me one of the best prosthetics out there.  A couple boxes of sketchbooks isn’t going to kill me.”

            “Whatever you say, man.”  Clint says, easy-going as always.  Bucky eyes him for a minute, used to people putting up more of a fight, but Clint has already turned towards the storeroom.

            Bucky’s arm - well, shoulder, given that the rest of it is fake - is aching by the time they finish hauling around boxes and stocking the shelves.  He doesn’t say anything about it.

            Mornings are slow at Muse.  Bucky spent the first week just sitting around, watching Clint knit.  That’s about as bored as one person can get, he figures.  Clint suggests he take some time and wonder around the store and figure out something he wants to try.  “Art’s a good way to get your mind off of things.”  He adds, like he knows what he’s talking about, and so Bucky listens.          

            But Bucky can’t paint to save his life, and he can draw a weapon real fast but wielding a pencil is a hell of a lot harder.  He steadfastly refuses to try knitting, blaming it on the prosthetic even though he has pretty good use of his replacement fingers.  

            Clint was the one to suggest embroidery.  Bucky’s first reaction had been something along the lines of “Fuck no”, but Clint’s a persistent guy.  Muse has a small sewing section, right next to the yarn, and Clint had pulled up a couple of tutorials on his phone and shown Bucky the basic stitches.  

            It’s - oddly relaxing.  They look like a pair of grandmothers in a nursing home - all that’s missing is the rocking chair - but Bucky has found that embroidery does keep his mind off of things.  Well, most of the time, and that’s about as good as he figures it’s going to get.  So he flips through a book of designs and knots he found at the library and keeps one eye on the door and thinks about things other than the friends who will never make it home.

            It’s not perfect, not by a long shot, but Bucky will take what he can get.  And a friend and something to keep his mind from going too far into the dark places is a lot more than he figures he deserves.

            “Oh.”  Clint says, some time later, after the first customer of the day has stocked up on oil paints and left, “I’ve been meaning to tell you.  Starting in June, we’re doing a summer camp type thing.”

            That gets Bucky’s attention.  The only kids he’s ever really spent time around are his sister’s kids, and though he certainly loves them, he’s not sure how he feels about being trapped in a room full of screaming kids for hours on end.  The look on his face must express that sentiment, because Clint cackles.

            “Imma handle them, don’t worry.”  He says.  “You keep the store running smoothly and I’ll make sure the kiddos don’t eat paint.  I’ve been doing it for years, anyways.  We’ll ease you into it.”

            “Sounds great.”  Bucky says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster - which isn’t much.  Clint laughs again and turns to greet the customer walking through the door.

            Work ends too soon for Bucky’s liking.  The hours that stretch between the end of his shift and when he finally goes to bed are hard.  There’s too much time for his thoughts to weave their nasty web around him that night, and he still has nightmares.  He hasn’t gone a single night without them since waking up in a fucking Army hospital missing three friends and his arm.  

            Maybe tomorrow night will be different.

 

=====================================================================

           

“DADDY!”  

            Steve blearily glances over at the alarm clock.  It says he still has another half hour before he has to get up.  Fucking alarm clocks and their kidless lives, Steve thinks as he hauls himself out of bed.  

            There’s a not-so-reassuring crash from downstairs, and Steve bites back a curse.  Three year olds can get into a lot of trouble, especially when they’re hungry.  Sure enough, Emmy is standing on the kitchen counter, a chair pushed up against it so she could climb up.  Cereal is scattered across the floor. 

            “It fell.”  Emmy says helpfully, looking up at Steve with wide, innocent eyes.

            “Mh-hm.”  Steve says.  He needs to get a dog, he thinks.  That would help him keep up with at least the food part of the messes Emmy makes.  “And what are you doing on the counter?”

            Emmy shrugs.  “I’m hungry.”  She whines.  “And you were slow.”

            Steve rubs his forehead.  “Come here.”  He says, reaching out and picking Emmy up off the counter.  She half-leaps into his arms and wraps her arms around his neck.  Any frustration Steve had been feeling disappears as Emmy giggles into his neck.  “Let’s get this mess cleaned up and get you some breakfast.”

            Luckily, there’s another box of Lucky Charms in the cabinet, and Steve gets Emmy in her booster seat eating breakfast before turning his attention to the floor.  As he sweeps, Emmy chatters away, telling him about the dream she had last night, then about Cinderella (her current favorite movie), then about the tea party she wants to have later.  Steve finishes sweeping and pours himself a bowl of Lucky Charms. 

            “Lucky Charms are for kids.”  Emmy informs him around a mouthful of cereal.

            “No, that’s Trix.”  Steve says, and Emmy squints at him in confusion.  “Nevermind.”

            “Kay.”  Emmy says.

            Steve smiles.  Emmy’s been his entire life since the moment she was born - a tiny little baby whose mom was too young to think about keeping her.  Steve sometimes feels guilty that Emmy doesn’t have a mom in her life, and he spends plenty of time wishing he had someone - anyone - in his life to help him parent.  And, well, be his partner.  But dating isn’t in the picture, not with a three year old.  So Steve does the best he can, and he thinks Emmy’s turning out to be a pretty good kid, cereal all over the kitchen or not.  

            “What’re we doing today?”  Emmy asks. 

            “I was thinking we could go to the park.”  Steve answers.  Emmy considers this for a minute.

            “And get ice cream?”  She asks hopefully.

            Steve barks out a laugh.  “We’ll see.”  He says, knowing better than to promise anything this early in the day.  That seems to be good enough for Emmy, because she gulps down the rest of her breakfast and tears away from the table, yelling over her shoulder that she’s getting dressed so they can go right away.

            Steve takes his time.  It’ll take Emmy twenty minutes to pick out what she wants to wear and actually put it on - and she definitely does not need help, thank you very much - so he doesn’t have to rush.  

            Life is - well, not where Steve thought it’d be in his early thirties, but definitely where it’s supposed to be.  Nat would punch him for saying something that cliche, but that’s okay.  Steve’s a sap, and he’s not afraid of admitting it.  

            But still.  There’s something missing, and even though Steve isn’t quite ready to start letting Nat set him up with someone, he’s thinking about it.  Not just for him.  For Emmy, too, because he knows one day she’ll face the teasing and questions about just having a dad.  Single parents are a bit of a rarity in Warren, especially when they became as much by choice.  So there are already questions from adults, and when Emmy starts school in a couple years, she’ll get the same.  And that’s not what Steve wants for his daughter.

            There’s another crash - already the second of the day, and the sun is barely up - and Steve sighs.  He needs a cup of coffee.  Or the energy of a little kid.  One or the other.  Maybe both.

 

====================================================================

 

            Clint has ducked out to run an errand, leaving Bucky on his own in the store.  Which is - okay.  He’s still pretty convinced he’s a horrible choice to work at an art store, but at least he doesn’t have more than a few seconds of panic at the thought of being entirely on his own.  God, he hates dealing with this shit.  He’s a grown man, at least in theory.  In practice...well, it’s better not to go there.

            The bell over the door rings, signalling the entrance of a customer.  Bucky looks up from where he is carefully embroidering a sampler of curse words.  And then looks up some more, because the guy that just stepped in the store is _tall_.  And muscular, the part of his brain that still occasionally believes he’s normal and can flirt and do that shit points out.  Bucky’s not sure if he wants to ask the guy out or break into a defensive stance.  As it is, he checks his exits, something he still hasn’t broken himself of.

            Most people wouldn’t notice.  This guy does, and that has alarm bells going off in Bucky’s head.  But he manages a smile and a terse “Hello.  Welcome to Muse.”

            The guy gives him a funny look but returns the smile.  “Thanks.  Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

            It’s going to be one of those conversations.  “I started a couple of weeks ago.”  He says.  “I’m Bucky.”

            “Steve.”  The guy holds out his hand to shake, and Bucky’s again grateful that he lost his left arm and not his right.  Which sounds messed up, but at least he doesn’t get the immediate questions of what happened.  “And this is Emmy.”

            Bucky looks down for the first time and sees a tiny little girl standing next to Steve.  She looks nothing like him - dark hair in place of his blonde, her features still soft with baby fat.  “Oh - hi, Emmy.”

            The girl looks at him suspiciously and doesn’t say anything.  

“Sorry.”  Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I, uh, I’m trying to teach her about stranger danger.  We’re taking it a little too seriously.  I can’t quite figure out the balance.”

“Gotcha.”  Bucky says, because he’s not really sure what else to say.  “Can I help you guys with anything?”

“Just picking up a few sketchbooks.”  Steve says.  “I’m running low on room.”  He lifts the little girl - Emmy - up on his hip and meanders over to where the sketchbooks are stocked.  “Clint around?”

Bucky hesitates.  He doesn’t want to admit that he’s the only one in the store, even if he sincerely doubts Steve is a threat.  Not with a toddler on one hip and a ridiculous stack of sketchbooks growing in his hold.  But still.  He didn’t think the woman back in Muqdadiyah was a threat, and look where he is now.  Missing a limb. 

“Bucky?”  Steve says, turning around when Bucky doesn’t answer right away.  There’s a little dent in his forehead, like he’s concerned. 

“Yeah, sorry.”  Bucky gives a shaky laugh.  “Spaced out for a second.  Clint’s, uh, on an errand.  Give him like ten minutes.” 

“Thanks.”  Steve says.  “Mind if I leave these on the counter while I look around?”  He holds up the sketchbooks.

“Go ahead.”  Bucky says, and he definitely _does not_ check out Steve’s ass as the man walks away.  

God, he needs to get a grip.  Either Steve’s a threat or he’s not, but Bucky can’t keep swinging back and forth like this.  Besides, the man’s got a kid, which most likely means he’s got a wife or at least a girlfriend.  

Steve has stopped in front of the display of drawing pencils.  Bucky thinks they all look the same, but judging by the amount of time Steve hovers over them, they’re clearly not.  

He should make small talk.  That’s what Clint does.  That’s what normal people do.  So Bucky takes a deep breath.  “You’re into drawing?”  He manages to get out before it feels like all the breath has been sucked from his lungs.  

If Steve notices, he’s kind enough not to say anything.  “Uh, yeah.  I’m an artist.  Mostly illustrate children’s books, but I do some other stuff too.”  

And that’s kinda cool.  “Sweet.”  Bucky says, because he’s not sure how to continue this conversation.  “Clint’s got me embroidering.”

Steve laughs.  “Sounds like him.  When Emmy was born, practically everything she owned was Clint-made.”

So Clint and Steve are definitely close friends.  That makes Bucky feel a little better, because he does trust Clint’s judgement.  

The bell jangles again, and Clint’s walking through the door.  Emmy shrieks, a noise that nearly has Bucky ducking for cover before he manages to get a grip and start doing his breathing exercises.  As Steve lets down his excited daughter so she can race to Clint, he turns to Bucky and apologizes. 

“Sorry.  She can be kinda loud.”

“It’s fine.”  Bucky says, once his heart isn’t threatening to jump out of his chest.  “I’m just - sensitive.”

Steve nods, like he understands.  Bucky’s grateful when he doesn’t push the subject.  “Do you mind ringing me up?  Clint’ll try and give me all this shit for free, and I don’t like him doing that.”

“Yeah, sure.”  Bucky knows how to do this.  The routine of scanning and bagging items is soothing, and soon enough he’s breathing normally again.  When he looks up, that little dent in Steve’s forehead is back, but again Steve doesn’t ask any questions.  Which is - refreshing.  “You’re all set.”

Steve gives him a little salute and wanders over to where Clint is regaling Emmy with some tale about his dog.  Bucky leans against the back of his chair and just watches them.  Steve’s military.  He can tell.  The salute is too practiced, his stance too formal, for him to be anything but.  

If Bucky’s a little bitter that Steve apparently came back in one piece, he’s not about to say it.

“Bye, Uncle Clint!”  Emmy calls out, and Bucky realizes that Steve and his daughter are leaving.  

“You okay?”  Clint asks when they’ve left and it’s just the two of them in the store again.  And had pretty much anyone else asked him that, he might have punched them in the face.  But Clint - Clint understands.  Not all of it, because there are only a few people who will fully understand, but he gets it more than most people.  So Bucky doesn’t lash out.

“I guess.”  He says.  “Steve’s ex-military?”

Clint nods.  “Yeah.  Army.”  He says, and Bucky knew there was something familiar about the guy.  

“Huh.”  Bucky says.  He doesn’t really know what else to say, and luckily Clint doesn’t push the subject.  

 

======================================================================

 

            A day out playing at the park, shopping, and getting ice cream had worn Emmy out.  She practically fell asleep at the dinner table, and Steve decided to skip a bath and just get her into bed.  She smile sleepily up at him, hugs him around the neck and whispers that she loves him, and Steve thinks - just as he does every day - how lucky he is to have her in his life.  

            Still, he’s glad for a few hours of quiet.  He’s got some work he needs to catch up on, though he’s not feeling particularly inspired.  Illustrating children’s books has turned out to be financially successful, but working on a deadline isn’t something he enjoys.  But he sits down at the table in his studio and starts sketching out some ideas.

            He’s trying to figure out how to draw a figure skating rhino (and Emmy is definitely going to love this book) when his thoughts start drifting the man he met earlier.  Bucky.  Steve was surprised to find someone other than Clint at the art store, although he knows Clint has a habit of taking in anyone who feels adrift.  And Bucky had looked more than a little adrift.  Steve had noticed how the man checked his exits and widened his stance, how he instinctively checked for weapons that were no longer there.  Steve knows what that’s like.  It took him ages to adjust to civilian life.  Sometimes, he still finds himself falling back to the routine of his old life.

            Bucky’s eyes are what keep drawing Steve back.  Haunted, almost hollow, reflecting too many bad memories.  Steve’s seen that look in the mirror before.

            He wants to learn more about Bucky, he realizes.  Wants to take the man out on a date, actually, but somehow he doesn’t think that particular question will go over well.  He just wants to make sure Bucky is okay, that he’s not holed up in his house and wondering when sleep will finally overtake the thoughts.  Because, well, Steve has been there.  Hell, he spent a year living with his parents, unable to function, when he was discharged. 

            Steve stares down at the page.  Rhinos do not have the legs for figure skating, he thinks.  He flips to a clean page and starts to doodle.  Sometimes, it’s like he has too many thoughts swirling around in his head and it helps to just get them down on paper.  He’s not sure what he’s drawing, not really, the pencil just moving across the page.  It’s not until he stops that he realizes that the eyes staring out at him belong to a certain man from the art shop, and Steve rips the paper out of the book and throws it away.

            “Fuck.”  He says out loud - because it’s creepy to be drawing some guy that you barely even know.  Even if you want to get to know him better.

            Steve leans forward, propping his elbows up on the table.  He’s been single for too long, he thinks.  He sighs and looks down at the sketchbook.  He really needs to figure out this damn figure skating rhino.  He picks up his pencil again and holds it just over the page, not quite ready to make a mark yet.  Maybe if he starts with the skates.

            It takes a few tries, but Steve’s eventually pretty happy with how it turns out.  Now that he’s got the basic sketch down, it’ll be easier to illustrate the rest of the pages.  At least, he hopes. 

            It’s not really all that late, but Steve decides to turn in.  Emmy will be up with the sun - or possibly before.  He puts his pencils away and shuts off the light in his studio.  The house is quiet.  As he passes Emmy’s room, he can hear her snoring.  A smile crosses his face, and he ducks into her room to press a quick kiss to her forehead.  

            “Night, Ems.”  He says quietly.  She shifts in her sleep but doesn’t wake, and Steve tiptoes out of the room.  

 

=======================================================================

 

            The last days of May bleed into June.  The weather has turned hot early, but Bucky’s not ready to give up his long-sleeve shirts.  Too many people would stare.  So he wears long sleeves and hides behind the hair he’s not quite ready to get cut and just tries to get through each day.  

            Things aren’t easier, not really, but Bucky’s adjusting.  He still runs a different route every morning, but he’s gotten into the habit of picking up coffee at the shop down the road from Muse.  Part of him says it’s a risk, but he tries to remind himself that he works in the same place, lives in the same place.  If someone wanted to find him, they could.  

            And yeah, he knows intellectually that no one is after him.  But old habits are hard to break. 

            His mom calls him every week and tries to act like everything is okay.  Bucky does his best to play along.  His sister calls a couple times and Bucky tries not to break down when he thinks about how things are never going to be normal again.  They both beg him to go see a therapist, and Bucky makes vague promises about looking into it.  He won’t, and they all know it. 

            It’s not that Bucky’s against therapists.  Sure, he hates the one assigned to him by the VA, and he won’t ever be going back there, but he’s sure somewhere out there is someone who could help.  It’s just that he doesn’t want to deal with these feelings right now.

            He comes into the store one day, and Clint takes one look at him and announces they’re going to the animal shelter that weekend.  

            “What?”

            “You need something to take care of.”  Clint says.  “It helps.  And a dog will make you feel safer.  They just do.”

            “I can’t take care of myself.”  Bucky argues.  “How the fuck am I supposed to take care of a dog?”

            Clint shrugs.  “Just sayin’.  It’ll help.”

            Bucky says no, but the idea of a dog keeps popping up in his head when he wanders around his house at night, double checking locks and trying to feel a little less alone.  Maybe one day, he thinks.  Maybe.  For now, though, he stumbles through the days. 

            The second week of June marks the beginning of the summer camp at Muse.  This session is for little kids, the ones not yet in school.  Bucky watches as a parade of toddlers and their parents come into the store and tries not to panic.  

            Clint, predictably, is having the time of his life.  Somehow he’s already got paint smudged on his cheek.  He herds the kids into the backroom where he sometimes holds classes and leaves Bucky out front, feeling overwhelmed.  

            “Sorry.”  

            Bucky looks up.  A couple of the parents are still in the store, browsing.  One of them is Steve, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he hovers by the counter.  

            “What’re you sorry for?”  Bucky asks, maybe a little harsher than needed.  Softer, he adds, “Not your fault a bunch of screaming kids scares the living daylights out of me.”  It’s meant to be a joke, sorta, but Steve frowns like he can see right through Bucky and it falls flat.

            “I know it’s not easy.”  Steve says.  Bucky manages a tight nod.  He’s not in the mood to have the conversation, not with a more-or-less stranger and in front of a store full of customers.  “I, uh - I know somebody.  He runs this support group downtown.”

            Bucky’s patience wears thin.  Who the fuck does this guy think he is, suggesting Bucky see a damn therapist?  “Not interested.”  He snaps.  “I don’t need your help.”

            Steve seems to realize he crossed a line.  “I - sorry.  Didn’t mean it like that.”  He says.  Bucky doesn’t answer.  “I, um, I’ll be back to get Emmy.”  He scratches the back of his head, standing in place awkwardly for a moment, before turning and leaving.  

            Bucky tries to put the whole encounter behind him, but he’s still steaming.  He hates when people think they can just step into his life and tell him what to do.  There’s a reason he keeps things private.  He already knows he looks like a damn freak show.  He doesn’t need people messing around in his head, especially not strangers. 

            Clint appears momentarily to grab more paint.  “You’ve got steam coming out of your ears.”  He observes.  “You okay?”

            Bucky nods.  “Just - thinking.”  He lies.  “You know.”

            Clint, easy-going as ever, just shrugs and calls over his shoulder to get him if Bucky needs anything.  Bucky turns his attention to the other customers, ready to ring up the woman stepping up to the counter.

            Later, when the kids have finished finger painting and have been collected by their parents, Clint grabs his latest knitting project and takes a seat.  “So?”  He asks.  “Gonna tell me the truth?”

            Bucky looks over.  “You knew I lied?”

            “A good liar knows when he’s being lied to.”  

            “A customer said something kinda out of line.”  Bucky answers.

            Clint looks up, frowning.  “Who?”

            “Your friend Steve.”

            “What?  What’d he do?”

            Bucky shrugs, not really eager to talk about it.  “I dunno.  He noticed I flinched when all the kids were running around screaming, and then said he had a friend who was a therapist or some shit like that.  And I don’t need people telling me to get my head fixed, you know?”

            “Aww, Buck.”  Clint says.  “He didn’t mean it like that.  He’s a good guy.”

            “I know.”  Bucky answers.  “I didn’t mean to snap, but it’s got me in a bad mood.”

            “Happens.”  Clint says easily.  “Just don’t hold it against him for too long, okay?”

            Bucky manages a smile.  “Okay.”  He says.  He’s not mad, exactly, anyways.  More frustrated, both with himself and with people who want to help but have no fucking clue how.  

 

=======================================================================

 

            Steve is practically banging his head against the table.  Natasha is watching him, barely interested. 

            “I’m an idiot.”  Steve tells her.  He steals a fry off of Emmy’s plate - she’ll never finish them all anyways - and dips it in ketchup.  

            “Yeah.”  Natasha agrees.  “Ems, you really gonna let your dad just take your fries?”

            Emmy looks up.  She’s been happily coloring her placemat, completely unaware of the conversation Steve and Natasha are having.

            “He’s big.”  She tells Natasha.  “He needs them to stay strong.”

            Natasha barks out a laugh.  “Nice one.”  She tells Steve, and he shrugs.  “Anyways, this guy won’t stay mad at you forever.  Who can?”

            “I just feel bad.”  Steve says.  He keeps replaying the conversation, watching Bucky’s face going from slightly panicked to full-on pissed off.  He crossed a line and he knows it. 

            “Well, you should.”  Natasha says.  She stabs a tomato with her fork.  “Do you normally make it a habit to tell people they need help?”

            Steve flushes.  “No.”  He mutters.  “I just -”

            Nat looks up.  “Oh my God.”  She says delightedly.  “You _like_ him.”

            “Natasha.”  Steve hisses and nods his head in Emmy’s direction.  He does not need his daughter asking questions.  “Shut up.”

            “That’s a bad word.”  Emmy pipes up.  “You should say be quiet, please.”

            Natasha laughs and Steve pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Yes, Ems, you’re right.  I should have said that.”  He glares at Nat.  “Thanks.”

            “That’s what I’m here for.”  Natasha says airly.  Then, more seriously, she adds, “So are you gonna go apologize?”

            “I don’t think he ever wants to see my face again.”

            “That’s gonna be pretty hard to accomplish.”  Natasha observes.  “You go to Muse like, once a week.”

            “More.  Emmy’s taking a day camp there.”  

            “So when you drop her off tomorrow, say you’re sorry.”  Natasha says.  “Either he’ll forgive you or he won’t.  Easy.”

            “Maybe for you.”  Steve mutters, but he knows it’s decent advice.  Nat just looks at him with a smug smile like she knows exactly what he’s thinking.  

            Later, when Steve’s sitting on a tiny chair, knees touching his chin, and pretending to sip tea while Emmy discusses her newest favorite movie - The Little Mermaid - with her dolls, he starts to think about how to apologize.  He’d wonder about why it mattered to him so much, but, as Nat already oh-so-helpfully pointed out, he likes Bucky.  And he knows it’s ridiculous, that all he knows about the man is that he’s a vet and that Clint liked him enough to hire him.  That’s it.  Not exactly a great start.

            It’s just - Steve gets it.  He’s been in Bucky’s position, trying to navigate a world that no longer makes sense.  He wishes he didn’t fuck up so badly today, especially since he knows exactly how it feels to have a stranger tell you that you need help.  

            “Daddy.”  Emmy says.  “I need more tea.”  She holds out her teacup and grins up at him.  “I drank it all.”

            Steve obediently pours her another glass of lemonade - because the one and only time he’d actually made tea for one of these tea parties, Emmy had looked at him like he was trying to poison her.  

            “So you had fun with Uncle Clint today?”  Steve asks when there’s a lull in Emmy’s animated conversation with one of her dolls.  The kid’s got an active imagination, that’s for sure. 

            “Uh-huh.”  Emmy nods her head.  “We did finger painting.  And tomorrow we’re making a mu-mural.”  She stumbles over the word a little.  “It’s gonna be huge.”  She stretches her arms wide to demonstrate, and Steve grins. 

            “How big?”  He teases.

            Emmy stretches as far as she can.  “This big.”  She says, then frowns.  “Maybe bigger.  Can we have cookies for our tea party?”

            Conversations with a three year old don’t always follow a straight line.  Steve blinks, adjusting to the change in topic, and shakes his head.  “You already had a treat at lunch.”  He reminds her.  Emmy gives him a look, like she’s not sure what that has to do with anything, but doesn’t push.  

            The tea party is soon abandoned in favor of legos - Emmy’s got a giant supply thanks to Tony - and Steve puts away the dishes.  He can hear Emmy singing some made-up song as she plays, and a smile crosses his face.  Being a dad is all-consuming, hard and tiring and rewarding and amazing all at once.  Plenty of people had thought he was crazy for adopting, but Steve would never regret that decision. 

            He grabs one of the sketchbooks he keeps downstairs and settles into the armchair near where Emmy’s playing.  He’s got whole sketchbooks filled with drawings of his daughter, from the time she was just a tiny - and loud - little baby up until now.  He knows her face, can draw it with his eyes closed.  The little, slightly upturned nose.  The huge, dark eyes.  The little dimples in her cheeks.  

            Emmy glances over to see what he’s doing and wrinkles her nose.  “Daddy.”  She complains.  “Stop drawing and come build with me.  I’m making a dragon unicorn.”

            And, well, there’s not much Steve can say to that, so he puts down the sketchbook - the start of the drawing abandoned - and lays down on the floor so he can help build a dragon unicorn, whatever that might look like.

 

======================================================================

 

            Bucky clamps one hand over an ear - fat lot of good that’s gonna do - and lunges towards the stove.  Why the fuck did he think setting a timer was a good idea?  Every ounce of him is screaming that he’s in danger, that it’s not a timer but an alarm, a warning, a signal that something awful’s about to happen and he needs to get his guys ready right now.  But his squad is halfway across the world or dead.  He’s alone in his kitchen with a burned steak. 

            Fuck.

            Bucky dumps the steak in the trash.  He’s not sure why he even tries.  He used to be a decent cook.  Not anymore.  Nothing in his life is like how it was before, like how it was just a couple of years ago.  

He trudges to the cupboard and pulls out a box of cereal.  That, at least, won’t come with beepers or buzzers or any of that shit.  

            As he crunches away on the cereal - because he ran out of milk two days ago and he’s been too worn out to actually make it to the store - he looks around.  Holy fuck does he hope his parents don’t decide to show up for a surprise visit.  They’ll have him bundled into the car and back to the psych hospital before he can so much as sneeze.

            Not that Bucky would blame them.  He hasn’t gotten around to decorating much.  There’s a couch and a TV in the living room, table and chairs in the kitchen, and a bed and dresser in the bedroom.  The only personal touch comes from the heavy curtains hanging over all the windows so no one can look in.  It’s - bleak.  

            Maybe he should talk to Clint.  Get a piece of art or some shit like that.  Pretend that he’s a normal person, even if anyone ever looked at him they’d know different.

            Bucky finishes the cereal and rinses out the bowl.  He doesn’t have the energy to clean up the other dishes, so he leaves them and heads for his bedroom.  

            It’s barely 7.  He doesn't care.  His bed looks - well, not inviting, because that’s where he has most of his nightmares.  Although, to be fair, his brain is pretty equal opportunity and gives him terrors when he tries sleeping on the couch.  But right now, Bucky is so damned drained from the day that he doesn’t really care about the nightmares.  He will at 3 in the morning, when he’s up for the day in a cold sweat, but there’s really not any solution to that.  

            So Bucky sheds his clothes and climbs into bed.  

            It’s 4:07 when he wakes up for the sixth time that night, heart racing and brain replaying scenes that he just can’t take anymore.  “Fuck.”  He mutters.  He stares at the clock next to his bed before angrily wiping his good arm across the bedside table and knocking the clock to the floor.  It lands with a crash that has him flinching and ducking for cover.  He can’t even get angry right. 

            Bucky climbs out of bed.  Might as well get an early start on his run.  He’s lacing up his shoes when his mind drifts to the offer that Steve had made the day before.  Maybe he does need to talk to someone.  No, not maybe, definitely.  He just doesn’t want to, and once again his own stubbornness is hurting him.  

            The thing is, Bucky’s tried therapy.  He’s tried talking through his memories and his feelings and all the thoughts that crowd his head.  It doesn’t help.  Or maybe it does, but it just makes him feel so awful that he doesn’t want to go through that anymore than he has to.  He spends enough time feeling like shit. 

            It sucks, plain and simple.  

            Bucky tries to lose all the bad memories as he runs, letting the cool air wake him up and focusing on the streets he’s taking.  He’s half-expecting the police to show up.  He wouldn’t be surprised.  He’s sure he looks like he’s dangerous, half-crazed or some shit like that.  But no one stops him and he pushes himself to keep going even though all he really wants to do is collapse and just - stop.  Stop the memories, stop the flashbacks, stop the pain.  

            He ends up going down a street he hasn’t before.  It’s lined with two story houses with green lawns, and the sun’s just starting to rise above the skyline.  It’s all perfect, and it pisses Bucky the fuck off.  Why the hell do all these people get perfect little lives and he has to deal with all this shit?

            Bucky returns home in a worse mood than he left with, if that’s even possible.  It doesn’t help that, sweaty as he is, it takes him twenty minutes to convince his anxiety that he does need to take a shower, fuck you very much.  

            There’s a knock on the front door just as Bucky finishes getting dressed.  For a moment, he’s filled with pure panic.  It’s too early for any of his neighbors to be stopping by.  But anyone dangerous wouldn’t knock, he reasons, so he decides to check and see who it is.  He’s still grabs one of his knives, just in case.

            Clint, to his credit, doesn’t even blink when Bucky opens the door brandishing a knife.  He just holds up a bag with a grease-stained bottom and shoves a coffee at Bucky. 

            “What are you doing here?”

            Clint wanders into the house, leaving Bucky standing a bit dumbfounded at the door.  “Bringing you breakfast.”  He says.  He looks around and lets out a low whistle.  “Ever hear of interior decorating, man?”

            “There’s a couch.”  Bucky says, but he doesn’t need to because Clint is already making himself at home.

            “Have a muffin.”  Clint says.  “They’re gluten-free.”  

            “Why did you bring me breakfast?”

            “Mmphf.”  Clint says around a giant bite.  “That’s what friends do.  You always look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

            That’s probably closer to the truth than Bucky would like to admit.  “Thanks.”  He says.

            Clint shrugs.  “Anytime.”  He says.  “I get - well, not all of it.  Some of it.”  He doesn’t offer anything else, and Bucky doesn’t push.  Clint’s respected the mess that is Bucky’s life. 

            They eat their muffins, Bucky in silence and Clint animatedly telling Bucky about his dog, Lucky.  Bucky has a feeling that it’s part of a ploy to get him to go to the animal shelter, but he can’t bring himself to care.  

            Eventually, Clint stands up.  “Ready for work?”  He asks, and Bucky’s surprised to see they’ve been hanging out for a couple of hours.  He forgot how quickly time could go by when there was someone else around to talk to. 

 

=====================================================================

 

            Steve wakes up, once again, at the crack of dawn.  This time, Emmy is jumping up and down on his bed.

            “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”  She screeches as soon as she sees he’s awake.  “Hurry up.” 

            Steve drags a hand over his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes.  “For what?”

            “We have to go see Uncle Clint.”  

            “It’s too early, sweetie.”  Steve sits up and grabs Emmy, swinging her up in the air before giving her a hug.  “We have to wait a little while.”

            Emmy pouts.  “But Daddy…”  She whines.

            “None of that.”  Steve says.  “No whining allowed.”

            “How long?”  

            “Until we go see Uncle Clint?”  Steve asks, and Emmy nods.  Steve glances over at the clock.  “Uh, a couple hours.”  Four.  Four hours, because Emmy’s nothing but consistent when it comes to waking him up by six.  

            “We should make pancakes.”  Emmy declares, hopping off the bed and racing down the hall.  Steve rolls out of bed and follows her, knowing very well that if he doesn’t hurry she’ll try making them herself and he’ll find the kitchen covered in flour.  

They make a mess anyways, because Emmy’s at the age where she wants to do everything herself.  Steve just turns up the radio and dances through the mess.  He might as well embrace it. 

            “Daddy.”  Emmy says seriously at one point.  “You look funny.”

            And Steve knows he’s not very good at dancing, but he wasn’t expecting such criticism from a three year old.  In response, he scoops her up off the chair she’s perched on and swings her through the air, not noticing until it’s too late that she’s still got the spoon in her hand and he’s just flinging pancake batter through the kitchen.  Yeah.  He definitely needs to get a dog. 

            Four hours later - pancakes made and eaten, kitchen scrubbed, both of them dressed, and Emmy clutching Steve’s hand, they make their way into Muse.  

            Bucky and Clint are both at the front counter, laughing at something.  And it doesn’t hurt that Bucky’s face closes down when he sees Steve.  It doesn’t.  

            Fuck, who is Steve kidding?  Of course it hurts. 

            Emmy drops his hand and charges at Clint, who sweeps her up in a giant hug.  Steve hangs back, waving at Clint as he carries Emmy into the back room and waiting until the store clears out before he heads up to the counter.  

            “Can I help you?”  Bucky asks, not looking particularly excited at the prospect of talking with Steve.  

            “I wanted to apologize.”  Steve says.  He jams his hands in his pockets.  “I was out of line.  I’m sorry.”

            “I - thanks.”  Bucky says, like he wasn’t expecting Steve to say that.  “Didn’t mean to snap at you like that.  It’s just - well, you’re ex-Army, right?  You get it.”

            Steve isn’t surprised Bucky pegged him for Army.  “Yeah, I am.”  He says.  “But I’ve been out for eight years.”

            Bucky nods.  “Less than a year.”  He says.  Steve’s honestly surprised that Bucky’s talking to him, let alone telling him any details about his life.  

            “It’s hard adjusting.”  Steve says.

            “Did you go to that thing you were talking about?”

            Steve blinks.  “The support group?  Took me a couple years, but yeah.  Sam’s a buddy of mine now.  He’s a good guy.  And before you ask, he’s not a therapist.  Just ex-military.”  

            Bucky looks like he’s considering something.  “You have the number?” 

            Steve’s honestly not sure how the conversation changed from yesterday to today, but he pulls Sam’s card out of his wallet and hands it to Bucky.  “Here you go.”

            “Thanks.”  Bucky stares at the card for a minute.  “I appreciate it.”

            “Yeah.”  Steve says, well aware he sounds like an idiot.  “Any time.  I, uh - bye.” 

            Bucky quirks an eyebrow at Steve’s less-than-graceful exit, but he lifts a hand in farewell.  

            Steve almost doesn’t know what to do with himself.  He’s got two hours without a kid, two hours to do whatever he wants.  And really, what he wants to do is go back home and sleep, but he needs to get some work done.  So he heads to the coffee shop down the street and, after ordering a coffee, pulls out a sketchbook.  

            The figure skating rhino is looking pretty good, but now he’s got to figure out a tap dancing crocodile.  He’s beginning to hate this particular author.

            Time passes faster than Steve would like, but it always does when he’s got a quiet moment to himself.  He packs up his sketchbook and pencils and heads back towards Muse.  Emmy charges towards him when he arrives, and it’s only practice that has Steve grabbing her before she leaves paint streaks on his clothes.  

            “You need to wash your hands.”  Steve tells her, turning her around and giving her a gentle push towards the bathroom.  “Get all the paint off, sweetie.”

            Emmy pouts but - thankfully - listens.  Clint emerges from the back room, just as covered in paint.  He waves at Steve but is intercepted by another parent before he can come over to say hello.  Emmy returns then, hands not quite clean but at least mostly free of paint.  She grabs Steve’s hand and tugs him towards the back room.  “Come see, Daddy.  We painted today.”

            “I can see that.”  Steve says, and he hears Bucky snort behind him.  He looks over his shoulder and sees a highly amused Bucky leaning against the wall behind the counter.  

            Emmy is quite proud of the mural the kids painted.  “It’s a rainbow dinosaur picking flowers.”  She explains.  Steve squints at the giant piece of paper on the floor. 

            “It’s beautiful.  You guys did a great job.”  He says.  He can’t make out a dinosaur or flowers, but the rainbow part is definitely there.  The whole piece of paper is splattered with every color imaginable.  But the kids had fun, and that’s really all Steve cares about.  He loves the way kids’ imaginations work. 

            “I painted the sky.”  Emmy says.  “It’s purple.”

            Steve lifts Emmy up and rests her on his hip.  “Good job, Ems.”

            “See you tomorrow.”  Bucky says as Steve and Emmy head out the door.  Steve throws a wave his way.  He’s relieved that he and Bucky sorted out the mess that Steve had created yesterday.  He feels a lot better about the whole thing, even if Bucky now thinks he’s an awkward dork instead of an asshole.  It’s an improvement, at least.

 

=======================================================================

 

            Bucky and Clint are in the process of closing up the store when Clint invited Bucky to come out to dinner with him.  “Taco Tuesdays.”  Clint says, like that’s all that needs to be said.  And, to be fair, that’s kinda true. 

            “I - you want me to hang out with your friends?”  Bucky says hesitantly.

            “Yeah.”  Clint gives him a funny look.  “You need to get out more, meet a few people.  It’ll be fun.  Have a couple tacos, a cold beer.  You know.” 

            Normal stuff.  Part of Bucky wants to say no, but he has no real excuse why.  Clint knows full well that Bucky is just going home to an empty house and eating whatever’s left in the fridge for dinner.  Maybe watching some mindless TV until he’s tired enough to sleep.

            But going out is scary, as embarrassing as it is to admit that.  He likes knowing exactly who he’s going to be with, but he doesn’t know any of Clint’s friends, besides Steve, and he figures Steve isn’t going to be there because a bar doesn’t sound like the best of places to take a little kid.  

            Still, Bucky knows a lifeline when he sees one.  If he doesn’t start getting out, he’ll turn into a fucking hermit soon.  “Okay.”  He says finally.  “Yeah, that’d be good.  Thanks.”

            The bar is only a couple of blocks away down Main Street.  The weather’s warm enough that they find a table outside.  They’re soon joined by a red-headed woman who gives Bucky an uneasy feeling.  Is everyone in this town ex-military?

            “Nat, this is Bucky.”  Clint introduces them.  “Bucky, this is Natasha.”

            Natasha raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him.  “The Bucky that Steve made a major fool of himself in front of?”  She asks, and Jesus-fucking-Christ, does everyone know about that?

            “Uh, yeah?”  Bucky says.  “It’s cool though.”  

            Natasha still looks skeptical, but thankfully doesn’t push the topic.  If she did, Bucky’s pretty convinced she’d somehow get him to admit that he wants things to be more than cool with Steve.  By the look she shoots him, he thinks she might know anyways.  Fuck.

            Clint’s other friends arrive quickly after that - Wanda, Darcy, and Bruce.  They settle around the table with beers and nachos.  Bucky’s actually surprised to find that it’s easy enough to just sit and relax, even if there’s a steady thrum of anxiety right under his skin.  But no one pressures him with questions or anything like that, and Clint always seems to know when to steer the conversation away from Bucky when his anxiety spikes a little.  It’s - nice.

            Bucky digs into his taco when it arrives, and holy shit did he forget how good actual food tastes - not the microwave junk he’s been eating.  He doesn’t realize how much he’s stuffing his face until Wanda looks over at him and reminds him to breath.  His face flushes a little, but it’s good natured teasing and Bucky misses that sort of human connection.  After that, he joins in with the conversation a little more, feeling more comfortable around Clint’s friends. 

            It’s well into the evening, tacos long since eaten and another round of beers gone, when they finally break up for the night.  Bucky’s offered a standing invitation to Taco Tuesdays, which he happily accepts.  If he had a therapist, he thinks they’d be pretty damn proud of him for actually going out and meeting people.  As it is, he’s kinda proud of himself. 

            The sun is just setting as Bucky walks the mile or so back to his house.  He’s in a good mood, he realizes.  Those don’t come by as often as they used to, so he holds onto it as long as he can.  He even smiles at someone walking by, because that’s what normal people do here in Warren.  And he may not be normal, not now, maybe not ever, but he’s feeling closer to it than he has in a long time.  

            He only has two nightmares that night, and counts it as a success.

            Bucky’s still feeling good enough the next morning that he decides to do something he wouldn’t normally do.  It takes way more courage than he’d like to admit, but he asks Clint the question that’s been bouncing around in his head for a while now.

            “Is Steve - um, is Steve with anyone?  I mean, is he single?”

            Clint opens and shuts his mouth a few times, looking like a damn fish.  Finally, he pulls himself together.  “He’s single.”  He confirms.  “Why?”

            “Why do you think?”

            “Okay, but I thought you were, like -”  Clint trails off.  “Huh.  So I should have given Steve your number.  Thought I misread that.”

            Bucky chokes on his own spit.  “He asked for my number?”

            “No, he was undressing you with his eyes and I thought he might want to get to know you first.”  Clint says.  “But I know you’re all private and shit so I didn’t.”

            Small blessings, Bucky thinks.  “Thanks.  I, uh, might give it to him anyways.”  He pauses, going back to what Clint said and actually processing it.  “Undressing me with his eyes?”

            Clint just snorts and goes back to preparing for the day camp.

            Bucky handles the onslaught of small children pretty well, though he does flinch a bit when one kid shrieks in excitement as they walk through the door.  Emmy waves at him when she walks in with Steve, and Steve himself offers Bucky a - slightly uncertain - smile. 

            Bucky returns the smile.  “Hey.”  He greets the pair.  “How are you?”

            Emmy jumps up and down.  “I had marshmallows for breakfast!”  She shouts before dropping Steve’s hand and racing towards Clint.  

            “Lucky Charms.”  Steve clarifies.

            “Look, man, if you want to feed your kid that much sugar, it’s on you.”  Bucky says with a smile, one that Steve readily returns. 

            “You try entertaining a three year old all day.  We’ve been up -”  Steve glances at the clock behind the counter - “for nearly five hours.   _Five hours._ ”

            So has Bucky, but he doesn’t say that because he doesn’t want to make Steve feel like he’s said something wrong or some shit like that.  So instead he pulls a face and says, “Sucks for you.”

            “Thanks.”  Steve says, but he’s still smiling.  He looks around, like he’s not sure if he should continue the conversation or not.  “You, uh, liking Warren so far?”

            Normal conversation.  Bucky relaxes.  He can do this.  “Yeah.”  He says.  “A lot, actually.  Different than the city, but it’s nice.”

            Steve nods.  “It’s a good place.”  He agrees.

            Bucky contemplates bringing up the weather, because that feels like the logical next step in this conversation, but he doesn’t.  “Clint’s been introducing me to people.”  He says instead.  “Met your friend Natasha.”

            “What’d she tell you?”  Steve immediately asks.  And then, “She’s not as scary as she seems.  Most of the time.”

            “I don’t know, man, she’s pretty terrifying.”  Bucky says.  “And she didn’t tell me anything.  Why?  Should she have?”

            He’s joking, but Steve turns bright red.  The blush starts on his face and travels down to where his shirt collar is, and it has Bucky wondering just how far that blush goes.  Which is totally inappropriate, given that he and Steve haven’t talked for more than ten minutes total, but he’s not exactly in control of those sorts of thoughts.

            They chat for a few more minutes before Steve says he has to go get some work done.  Bucky watches him leave and thinks back to his earlier conversation with Clint.  Maybe giving his number to Steve wouldn’t be a bad thing.

            Most of the morning passes uneventfully, but near the end of the day camp, Clint calls Bucky into the back room to help him wrap up the day’s project.  He’s in the middle of moving paints when one of the little kids points at his arm. 

            “Are you a robot?”  The kid asks in the way only a three year old can.  Bucky snorts and Clint makes a sound like he’s trying not to laugh.  

            Bucky bends down so the kid can get a closer look at his arm.  This - this doesn’t bother him so much.  Kids don’t know what they’re asking, and he figures they might end up making the world a little kinder if they understand the differences people have.  

            “I lost my arm.”  He explains, pushing up his sleeve.  “So I had a special arm made for me.”  He flexes the fingers on his left hand and the kid definitely looks impressed.

            “How do you lose an arm?”  Another kid asks.  “Did it like, fall off?”

            Clint loses his battle to not laugh.  Bucky shakes his head.  “I used to be a soldier, and I was in an accident.”  He says.  He pushes back the oncoming wave of memories, because he’s not about to have a meltdown in front of a group of little kids.  

            This silences several of the kids, but Emmy pipes up.  “My daddy was a so- sol- shoulder too!”  She yells.  Then, quieter, “But he isn’t a robot.”  

            Bucky gets the feeling that he’s not going to be able to convince any of these kids that he’s not a robot.  And, really, there are worse things they could think. 

            By the time Bucky finally escapes from all the questions - most revolving around if he can shoot fire from his hand, which would be pretty cool - the parents have started to arrive.  

            “Daddy.”  Emmy whisper-yells to Steve as he walks in the room.  “Bucky’s a robot.”

            Steve - because he’s a decent guy - turns bright red and immediately starts apologizing to Bucky.  

            Bucky waves off the apologies.  “It’s all good, man.”  He says, and it’s true.  “I mean, it is a metal arm.” 

            Steve doesn’t seem to know what to say, and he stutters a few times before finally relaxing.  “Sorry.”  He says again.  Bucky’s about to tell him to stop apologizing when Steve rubs his face and glances down at Emmy.  “Um - let me make it up to you, at least?  Take you out for coffee some time?”

            Bucky freezes.  He can feel his own face start to turn red, and he’s positive Clint is texting a play-by-play of whatever this is to Natasha.  But before Steve can stammer out yet another apology, Bucky finds himself saying, “Yeah, sure.  That - that’d be nice.”

            Nice.  It’d be fan-fucking-tastic if he can actually manage to go through with this.  Steve smiles and hands his phone to Bucky. 

            “Trade numbers?”  He asks hopefully.  

            Bucky’s pretty sure he’s got a ridiculous grin on his face, but there’s not much he can do about that.  For once, things seem - okay.  Even if he’s positive the whole town will know by nightfall that he’s got a fake arm.  He’s okay with that right now.  He probably won’t be later, when he starts getting those sympathetic looks from people walking down the street, but that’s okay.

 

========================================================================

 

            Steve’s pretty sure he hasn’t stopped grinning since Bucky said yes to coffee.  He feels like joining Emmy as she skips down the street, except that he has somewhat of an image to uphold (meaning mostly that if Nat caught him, she’d never let him live it down and she has _way_ too much dirt on him already).  

            Lunch is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with chocolate milk.  Emmy has jelly smeared on her nose and peanut butter on her chin, and somehow she’s still covered in paint despite Steve’s attempts to get her clean.  Oh well.  What was it that his mom always said?  Life’s machine washable.  Thank God, too, because three year olds are not known for being neat. 

            “Daddy?”  Emmy asks part way through lunch.  

            “What?”

            “Why is Bucky a robot?”

            Damn.  Steve was hoping to avoid this conversation, but he should have known Emmy’s curiosity would get the better of her.

            “He’s not a robot, sweetie.”  Steve says.  “He just has a metal arm.”  Please don’t ask why, he thinks.

            “Why?”

            “You know how I was a soldier before you were born?”  Steve asks.  Emmy nods.  This is something Steve’s talked about a lot with her, and she knows a lot of his army buddies.  “Well, so was Bucky.  And sometimes soldiers get hurt.” 

            Emmy considers this.  “Did you get hurt?”  
            Steve takes a deep breath.  Maybe one day, when she’s older, he’ll tell her the truth, but right now she’s too little to understand.  “No.”  He says. 

            “But Bucky did.”  Emmy frowns.  She doesn’t know him very well - at all, really, besides the few hours she’s spent at Muse around him - but one of the many things that Steve loves about his baby is that she’s got a soft heart.  “Why?”

            “Because life isn’t fair, sweetheart.”  Steve says.  It’s another thing his mom used to say.  

            There’s a little furrow between Emmy’s eyebrows.  “Can I make it fair?”  She asks. 

            Steve leans over and presses a kiss to the top of her head.  “Of course you can.”  He says, his chest feeling a little tight.  “Of course you can.”

            It’s been approximately four years since Steve last flirted with anyone, let alone asked someone out for coffee, so he spends way too much time overthinking when would be a good time to text Bucky.  It’s not until Emmy is tucked into bed, her arms wrapped around her favorite stuffed animal, that he finally gets up the courage. 

            Bucky texts back almost right away.  That makes Steve feel a little less weird about the whole thing, because at least Bucky was waiting for his text.  Or just near his phone. 

            They agree to get coffee on Saturday morning.  Steve is grinning when he gets a good night text from Bucky.  Maybe this will turn out okay.

            “You text weird.”  Bucky tells Steve when he walks into Muse the next morning.  Clint snorts. 

            “No emojis.”  He agrees, leaning against the wall.  “It’s not natural.”

            “Emojis aren’t natural.”  Steve argues.  “They creep me out.”

            A grin spreads across Bucky’s face.  “Good to know.”  He says in a way that suggest he’s going to be sending Steve more than a few emoji-filled texts.  

            Steve groans.  He kneels down to give Emmy a hug before sending her off with Clint - who says something about making clay sculptures today - and watches as she skips into the back room.

            “She’s cute.”  Bucky says. 

            Steve puffs up with the same pride he gets whenever says anything good about Emmy.  “Yeah.”  He agrees.  “She’s a good kid.” 

            Bucky nods, then looks away briefly.  “So, uh, coffee tomorrow, huh?”

            “If that still works for you.”  Steve says, trying to hide the momentary panic he feels.  Maybe Bucky has changed his mind.  Maybe -

            “Definitely still works.”  Bucky flashes Steve a smile, and unlike most of his happy faces, this one actually feels real.  

 

========================================================================

 

            Bucky wakes up in an absolute panic on Saturday morning.  What the hell do you wear on a coffee not-really-a-date?  He actually is halfway through calling his sister when he realizes that any news of him...functioning will make it through the whole family, and he’s not ready to get their hopes up.  Not yet, not when he spent last night curled in a ball in his closet for two hours, hiding from a threat that didn’t exist anymore. 

            Fuck.  Maybe this isn’t a good idea.  

            Bucky sighs.  Nothing’s a good idea right now, and he might as well not try to kill a chance at being normal, even if it’s just for a little while.  Even if he spends the rest of the day an absolute fucking mess because it takes energy trying to be normal.

            Which leads him back to the current problem.  He wants to look - good.  Not the usual barely presentable mess that Clint tolerates representing his store.  

            It takes way longer than Bucky will ever admit, but he manages to wrangle his hair in a halfway decent ponytail.  It’s too hot for long sleeves and jeans, but that’s what he wears anyways, because even if Steve knows about his arm, he doesn’t need all of Warren to.  By the time he finally is mostly happy with how he looks, it’s time for him to leave if he wants to actually get to the cafe on time. 

            Steve’s already there when Bucky arrives, hovering by the door with his hands shoved in his pockets.  He looks ridiculously perfect and Bucky wonders - not for the first time - how the fuck Steve has any interest in a mess like him.  

            “Hey.”  Steve’s face lights up when he sees Bucky.  It’s the first time Bucky’s seen him without his daughter nearby, and it’s honestly a little strange to see him as just Steve.  

            “Hi.”  Bucky waves, a little awkwardly, and glances around.  “So, uh -”  Shit.  What do people do on sorta-dates?

            Steve, thankfully, looks just as awkward as Bucky.  “Yeah.  Coffee?” 

            They get in line, and Steve insists on buying both coffees and breakfast sandwiches.  They settle in at a table in a quiet corner.  Bucky is quietly suspicious that Steve chose the table because he thinks Bucky will want a good view of the place (which, to be fair, isn’t wrong), but he doesn’t say anything.  

            They sit in awkward silence for a minute or two before Steve finally speaks.  

            “I’m not so good at this whole - thing.”  He says.  “Whatever this is.  It’s been a while.”

            “Yeah.”  Bucky agrees.  “A long time for me too.”

            Steve cracks a smile.  “So, uh, tell me about yourself?  I mean, I know you’re Army and you work at Clint’s shop, but that’s it.”

            Bucky’s never particularly liked this question, and it’s even harder to answer now.  “I’m from Brooklyn originally.”  He says - not that he particularly needs to share that piece of information, because he can tell that Steve’s a Brooklyn boy too.  “I don’t know.  I’m no good at answering this question.”

            Steve actually seems to relax at that.  “Me either.”  He pauses and takes a sip of coffee.  “Why Warren?”

            “Why not?”  Bucky says.  “It’s quiet, and friendly, and far enough away that my parents aren’t going to be hovering over me every second of the day.  What about you?”

            “Wanted someplace nice for Emmy to grow up.”  Steve says.  “Her birth mom lives about an hour away, and I wanted to be close by if she ever wanted to see Emmy.”  

            Huh.  That answers that particular question.  “So she’s adopted?”

            Steve looks surprised.  “Clint didn’t tell you?”  He asks.  “Yeah, I adopted her as a baby.  Three hours old and I was holding her in my arms.”  

            That’s disgustingly cute.  Bucky never knew he would be interested in a guy that was good with kids, but here he is, picturing how ridiculously adorable that must have looked.  

            “That’s sweet.”  Bucky says, and Steve actually blushes.  

            “She’s my world, you know?”  He says.

            Bucky nods.  He understands, even if he doesn’t know what it’s like to be a dad.  But he can see it in Steve’s eyes, the love and awe he has of his little girl.  

            “Anyways.”  Steve says.  “That’s me.”

            Bucky smiles.  It’s a bit easier now to tell Steve about himself, about the six months spent in rehab, learning what it’s like to live with a fake arm.  About the way Clint just took one look at him and offered him a job, two days after he moved to Warren and was starting to feel like he made the world’s biggest mistake.  About how working at Muse has been a lifeline he never expected.  Maybe it’s too heavy for not even a first date, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. 

            Two hours passes before either one of them notices, conversation flowing much faster now that they’ve broken the ice and gotten past the awkward stage.  Steve finally says that he has to get back to Emmy - there’s apparently only so much time Natasha is willing to babysit. 

            “So, um, we should do this again sometime.”  Bucky says, not quite believing that he’s actually saying those words.

            Steve’s face fucking lights up.  “Yeah!”  He says.  “That would be awesome.  Text me?”

            They head different directions as they leave the cafe, but Bucky glances back over his shoulder to find Steve doing the same thing.  

            Bucky honestly hasn’t felt this good in months - maybe a couple of years, really.  He feels almost human again, feels like he’s at least blending in with normal people.  

            He wants this feeling to last, to stay if not permanently (because it’s still awfully early in this whole recovery process for that) than at least for a few days.  He pulls the card Steve gave him out of his wallet and stares down at the phone number.  Maybe this support group can help him learn how to hold onto this feeling.  That’d be nice.  

            It’s worth a shot, at least, and Bucky knows that if he puts it off any longer he may not have another day this good for a long time.  So when he walks inside the welcoming, cool darkness of his house, he drops his keys on the counter and takes his phone out of his pocket.

            “Hello?”  It picks up on the second ring, and for a moment Bucky is terrified.  He hates talking on the phone, hates not being able to see the person he’s speaking with.  “Hello?”

            “Uh, hi.  Sorry.”  Bucky says, stumbling over his words.  “I got your number from Steve?  He said you run a support group for vets, and -”  Bucky doesn’t know how to finish his sentence.  Luckily, the guy - Sam - seems to understand.

            “I do.”  Sam says, his voice slipping into something calming.  Bucky likes it.  “We’re having a meeting tomorrow afternoon, if you’d like.”  

            And Bucky would like that.  Sam rattles off an address and Bucky thanks him and hangs up.  Of course, he hadn’t thought far enough ahead, and he’d forgotten that Steve said the support group met downtown, a good twenty minute drive.  Fuck.

            Clint, luckily, answers Bucky’s text for help and says he’ll drive.  Now Bucky’s got no excuse not to go.  It’s not like he was looking for one, not exactly, but he’s scared as fuck about what this group might dredge up from the depths of his mind.  It’s not a pretty place, his mind. 

 

======================================================================

 

            Emmy and Nat are playing in the park across the street when Steve gets home.  He watches them from the porch, grinning when he sees Emmy’s face light up when she spots him.  

            “You were gone a long time.”  Emmy tells him as she hugs him.  “Breakfast doesn’t take that long.”

            Natasha grins.  “Yeah, Steve.  Breakfast doesn’t take that long.”

            Steve sticks his tongue out at her and Emmy giggles.  “I had a great time, thanks.”  He says. 

            “Good.”  Natasha says.  “So did we.  Right, Ems?”

            “We played legos and went to the park.”  Emmy shouts in Steve’s ear. 

            Steve gives Emmy a kiss and sets her down.  She rockets into the house, the screen door banging shut behind her.  He turns to thank Natasha, but she’s looking at him expectantly and he knows he’s not getting out of here without telling her how it went.  In detail, knowing Nat.

            “It was really nice.”  He says before she can say anything.  “Awkward, at first, but by the end it felt like we’ve known each other for a really long time.”

            “Are you seeing each other again?”

            “Planning on it.”  

            Natasha looks satisfied.  “Good.”  She says.  She presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek and says her goodbyes.

            Emmy appears in the doorway.  “Who are you seeing again?”  She asks, and Steve probably should have made sure she was out of earshot before having that conversation.  Oh well.  Too late now. 

            “Bucky.”  He says.  “Remember?  I asked him if he wanted to get coffee with me.”  
            Emmy wrinkles her nose.  “Is he your friend?”  
            Steve breathes a sigh of relief.  “Yeah.  He is.” 

            “Oh.  Okay.  Can we play in the sprinkler?”  Emmy asks.  She presses her hand against her forehead dramatically.  “It’s hot.”

            The afternoon is filled with Emmy tearing around the backyard, her happy shrieks filling the air as she jumps through the water.  Steve changes into his own bathing suit and joins her.  By mid-afternoon, they’re both exhausted and a little sunburned, and Steve wraps Emmy up in a giant beach towel and sets her down in front of the TV to cool off and hopefully sleep a little.  

            This time, when he pulls out his sketchbook, he doesn’t feel as guilty sketching Bucky’s eyes.  He wants to capture how different they looked today then they did most days, the way he could see the hope and the brightness in them.  He thinks Bucky doesn’t get like that very often.  It makes him feel pretty damn great that he was able to help Bucky feel good, even if it won’t last.  He knows all too well from his own recovery that just a little bit of hope goes a long way when you feel that lost. 

            Steve’s already wondering how long he should wait before asking Bucky out for a proper date.  

 

======================================================================

 

            Clint drops Bucky off in front of a community center, the type that’s more well-loved than worn-down.  He says he’ll be down the street at a coffee shop and to text him when Bucky’s done.  Bucky’s silently grateful that Clint’s sticking around, that he’s not just going to show up two hours from now.  He has a way out, now, if he needs it. 

            Bucky heads inside.  It’s cool in here, a welcome break from the beating sun.  He hesitates just inside the doorway, not sure where to go.  Finally he spots a sign pointing down a hallway, and he follows its directions to a decent sized room with a bunch of folding chairs set up in a circle.  

            For a brief moment, panic wells up in Bucky’s throat.  He can’t do this.  He doesn’t want to do this.  He’s almost ready to turn around, to call Clint and tell him he made a huge fucking mistake, to admit that he’s too broken to do any of this.  But then there’s a man standing in front of him, his voice calm and easy-going.

            “Hey.  I’m Sam.”  He offers his hand, and Bucky shakes it, almost on autopilot.  

            “Bucky.”  He says.  “We, uh, talked on the phone.”

            There’s a wide smile on Sam’s face, and Bucky gets the odd suspicion that Sam is proud of him for actually making it to the meeting.  “Glad you’re here.”  Sam says.  “Take a seat.”

            There’s seven other people in the room, some talking with each other and some sitting silently in their chairs.  Bucky takes a seat.  Sam starts the meeting a few minutes later, just as easy-going as he introduces himself and asks everyone to go around and introduce themselves and say why they’re here.  

            There’s two people from the Army, another three from the Navy.  A Marine.  Someone from the Airforce.  And then it’s Bucky’s turn, and he’s stammering out something about his name and the fact he was in the Army and that he came back without an arm.  He’s waiting for judgement or for that God-awful pity.  Neither come.

            “Fucking sucks.”  The guy from the Marines says.  He sticks out his leg, and Bucky can see the prosthetic.  “Plain and simple.”

            And suddenly Bucky doesn’t feel so alone anymore.  

            The rest of the meeting passes faster than Bucky thought it would.  Sam isn’t a therapist - far from it.  He just guides the meeting, asking questions occasionally but mostly just letting people talk and vent and commiserate.  

            It’s - nice, oddly enough.  Bucky thinks he may actually start coming on a regular basis, at least if he can get a ride from someone.  He walks out at the end with one of the guys from the Army - Morita, who says he lives one town over from Warren and offers to pick Bucky up for the next meeting.  Even though half of Bucky’s brain is screaming that he doesn’t know if this is a trap or not, he accepts the offer, because he wants to come back and doesn’t want to keep bumming off of Clint.  And because the rational part of his brain says this is someone who’s been in basically the same boat as Bucky.

            “How’d it go?”  Clint asks when Bucky surfaces into the late afternoon sunshine.  

            “Good, actually.”  Bucky says.  “It helped, I think.”

            “Good.”  Clint says.  He doesn’t push for more, which Bucky is grateful for.  He still doesn’t know what crap Clint has gone through - and he’ll never ask - but Clint seems to get the need for space that Bucky has.  

            Of course, good things don’t last, and Bucky endures another God-awful night of panic and terror.  He goes through his morning ritual - run, convince himself to shower, eat a burned poptart - and staggers into work.  The lack of sleep is starting to catch up with him.  He knows that last night was bad because they talked about some pretty heavy shit at the support group.  He remembers that much from therapy.  But there’s a lightness that Bucky wasn’t expecting, a sort of relief of knowing he’s got people around here that understand at least some of the shit he’s going through.  

            “You look like shit.”  Clint says.  He squints at Bucky.  “Do you own a bed?”

            “Yes.”  Bucky says.  He doesn’t say that he spent most of the night on the floor, because sometimes that’s more comfortable.  

            Clint looks like he knows anyways, but he drops the topic.  “How was your date?”

            Bucky sputters a few times.  Maybe talking about his issues would be okay.  “Fine.”  He finally settles on when it becomes clear from Clint’s face that he’s hesitated too long.

            “Just fine?”  
            “More than fine.”  Bucky admits.  “Pretty fucking great, actually.  We just - hit it off, you know?”

            Clint wiggles his eyebrows.  “Anything hot and heavy?”  He asks, and Bucky elects to ignore him this time.  Which, in hindsight, might not have been the best idea, because two minutes later Clint is on the phone with Natasha grilling her for what she knows.

            Steve and Emmy come in as normal.  Emmy’s got something in her hands - maybe a coloring book?  Bucky’s not sure.  She drops Steve’s hand and races across the store, but instead of heading for Clint, she stops in front of Bucky.  

            “I have something for you.”  She announces.  She produces the thing that’s in her hands - a sticker book - and carefully flips through it until she reaches a page full of sparkly unicorn stickers.  She peels one from the page and holds it up at Bucky.  “To make your robot arm pretty.”  She explains.

            And Bucky - Bucky has no fucking clue what he’s supposed to do or say.  Steve looks like he’s about to apologize.  Bucky, though, is actually pretty touched.  He kneels down so he’s closer to Emmy’s level and pushes up his sleeve a little. 

            “Where should it go?”  He asks Emmy.  She pauses, thinking, before placing it on the inside of his wrist.

            “There.”  She says happily.  “Now you’re a robot unicorn.”  

            That said, she tucks the sticker book back under her arm and skips off into the back room.  Bucky is left staring at his wrist and trying not to cry.  He’s always felt like this giant scary monster with this damn arm.  Apparently all it took was one little kid putting a glitter sticker on his arm to make it feel a little less - awful. 

            “Bucky?”  Steve says.  “I’m sorry.  She didn’t tell me that’s what she was going to do.”

            “Don’t.”  Bucky says, and he sees the way Steve’s face seems to drop even further.  Bucky clears his throat and tries again, because that’s not what he meant.  “Don’t you dare apologize.  You have one amazing kid, Steve.”

            The tension melts out of Steve and he lets out a long breath.  “Wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”  He says. 

            “I mean, a robot unicorn is way better than a messed-up vet.”  Bucky says lightly.  When Steve doesn’t smile, Bucky shoves at him a little.  “I’m cool with it.  Really.  It was sweet.”

            Steve finally smiles.  “Okay.  Cool.”  He looks around.  “I, uh - yeah.”

            Bucky raises an eyebrow.  “Want to try again?”  
            “I know you don’t like people looking at your arm.”  Steve explains.

            And he’s right - most of the time, Bucky doesn’t.  But there’s an innocence to what Emmy did, a sweet gesture by a little girl who didn’t know what he’d been through but wanted to make him smile anyways.  

            “It’s good.”  Bucky says.  He glances down at the sticker.  “Really.”

            Clint walks in then and whistles.  “Nice tat.”  He says to Bucky.  “Didn’t know you were the sparkly sort.”

            A woman comes up then to buy something, and Bucky checks her out.  He leaves his sleeve rolled up through the transaction, and it’s not that bad.  

            When the woman leaves, Bucky looks over to see Steve’s still hovering.  “I went to the support group.”  He says, because Steve was the one who got him there in the first place.  “It - it was nice.”

            Steve’s face lights up.  “I’m glad.”  He says.  “It was my lifeline for a while.”

            They talk for a few more minutes before Steve glances down at his watch and grimaces.  “I’ve got to get going.  I have a pirouetting moose to draw.”

            And that’s a statement that could use some clarification, but Bucky’s got another thought on his mind.  “Hang on.  Are you - do you want - how about we go out on Wednesday?”

            Steve stares at him for a minute, and Bucky’s almost worried he’s misread how fucking great their not-date went, but then Steve is nodding.

            “That’d be awesome.”  He says.  “Dinner?  And I know a great place to go bowling.”

            “Dinner and bowling.”  Bucky agrees. 

            Wednesday rolls around, and this time Steve is picking Bucky up because the diner he’s insisting they go to is a few miles away.  Bucky waits outside because he’s not ready yet for Steve to see how fucking lost he still is.  His house is like a damn visual of his brain.  The only change is that now he opens the curtains in the living room sometimes. 

            The diner looks nothing like the diners from Brooklyn that Bucky’s used to - it’s much cleaner, for one thing - but it’s got a friendly middle-aged waitress who greets Steve with a “Hey, sweetheart, how ya doing?” and then turns to Bucky with a big old smile on her face like she’s already planning the wedding.  

            Bucky gets a greasy cheeseburger and Steve orders a huge plate of pancakes and bacon.  This time, there’s no awkward pauses or wondering what to talk about next.  The conversation flows comfortably, a steady stream of jokes and questions and stories that has Bucky feeling like he’s known Steve forever.  He even gets an explanation for the pirouetting moose.

            After dinner they end up at a bowling alley a few blocks away.  Steve claims to be terrible at bowling, but he ends up winning three of the four games they play.  

            “If that was something you’re bad at, I’d hate to see what you’re good at.”  Bucky jokes, and the grin Steve sends his way is worth getting beat so badly.

            The ride home takes longer than it should, mostly because Steve keeps turning down side streets and generally taking the longer route.  Bucky doesn’t mind.  He’s not exactly ready for this evening to end. 

            Steve - ever the fucking gentleman - walks Bucky up the cracked front walk to his house and stands on the steps and hesitates.  “I’d like - Can I -”  He stammers.

            “Kiss me?”  Bucky offers, and Steve blushes all over before leaning in and landing a soft kiss on Bucky’s lips.  That’s not enough, though, not really, so Bucky reaches up and grabs Steve’s shirt and pulls him in closer.  

            When they break apart, Steve is still bright red, but he’s got a stupid grin on his face that Bucky’s pretty sure he’s mirroring.  

            “We should, uh, do this again sometime.”  Bucky manages to stammer out. 

            “Yeah.”  Steve hasn’t moved away from Bucky, and he can feel his breath on his skin.  “That’s a good idea.” 

            They say goodbye a second time, Steve pressing another kiss to Bucky’s cheek before stepping back and waving in that awkwardly adorable way of his.  “See you tomorrow.”  He says, and Bucky echoes the goodbye.

           

=======================================================================

 

            Steve drives home with the most ridiculous grin on his face that he can’t seem to get rid of.  He’d been nervous, after their coffee date, that maybe Bucky didn’t like him that much.  And then with Emmy calling Bucky a robot unicorn, he thought for sure things weren’t going well.  But maybe he misjudged Bucky, because it turns out he’s a lot more - okay with things than Steve had assumed.  Maybe that’s Steve’s own recovery process making him biased. 

            Either way, tonight had been amazing.  He’d gotten Bucky to laugh, actually laugh, at his jokes.  He feels connected to him in a way that he hasn’t connected to anyone in a long time.  It’s good but...scary.  Not scary in a bad way, just scary in the sense that he didn’t think he was looking for someone, and he certainly didn’t think that someone would be Bucky, especially not after their first conversation didn’t get off on the right foot.

            Steve is humming as he shuts off his car and heads inside.  He stops dead in the living room.  It’s three hours past her bedtime, but Emmy is wide awake and perched in the middle of her giant pile of legos.  Tony - her supposed babysitter - is sitting nearby, hands waving as he describes some structure he’s building to Emmy. 

            “Daddy!”  Emmy shouts.  She launches herself at him and he throws his arms out just in time to catch her.  She’s in her pjs, at least, but that’s not going to make a lick of difference tomorrow when she’s cranky and out of sorts from being up so late.  

            “Hey, sweetheart.”  Steve kisses her on the forehead.  “What are you doing up?”

            Tony, as usual, doesn’t have the decency to look sorry.  “We had ice cream.”  He says.  “And cupcakes.” 

            And really, Steve probably should have seen this coming.  Nat, his usual go-to-babysitter, hadn’t been free, which left Steve with Tony - a good guy but too much of a kid himself.  Only Clint would have been more of a disaster.  Next time, he’s definitely begging Bruce.

            “And we builded a castle for seahorses.”  Emmy adds.  “See?”  She wiggles in Steve’s hold until her lets her back down.  “That’s the drawbridge.  Uncle Tony made it work!”

            “Very nice.”  Steve says.  “Come on, Ems, it’s time for bed.”

            “I’m not sleepy.”  Emmy argues, but she’s interrupted by a giant yawn.  “Maybe a little.”  She concedes.

Steve picks her back up and carries her into her room.  She snuggles in under the covers and clutches her favorite toy - a raggedy stuffed bear - close to her body.  

“Good night, Ems.”  Steve says, kissing the top of her head.  “Sweet dreams.”

Emmy smiles.  “Nighty-night.  Love you!”

“Love you too.”  

Back downstairs, Tony has cleaned up most of the legos and now looks a little more sheepish.  “Sorry.”  He says when he sees Steve.  “I know it’s way past her bedtime.  We were just having fun.”

“It’s okay.”  Steve says, because in the long run, he’d rather Emmy have good memories with all the important people in her life than get to bed on time every single night of her life.  Tomorrow, he’ll probably be thinking differently, but he’ll deal with it. 

“You have a good time?”

“Yeah.”  Steve heads to the kitchen and cracks open a beer, offering one to Tony.  They both take seats around the kitchen table.  “It was - perfect, really.  Bucky’s a really great guy.”

Tony nods.  “Spare me the mushy stuff.”  He warns.  “But that’s good.  I’m happy you’ve found someone.”

“Me too.”  Steve says.  He doesn’t know where this thing with Bucky is going, or how long it will last, but it feels like a really good thing and he doesn’t want it to end.  He thinks of the kiss they shared and of the light in Bucky’s eyes.  He really, really doesn’t want it to end. 

A part of his brain is warning him to stop falling so hard.  He doesn’t even know if Bucky wants something long-term or is just looking for a fling.  Hell, Bucky has said himself that he doesn’t function very well - how could Steve ask him such a question?  

But a larger part - his romantic side, as his mama would say - tells that other voice to shut the fuck up and just enjoy _this,_ whatever it may be.  

Tony clears his throat.  “Stop daydreaming.”  He says.  “I told you, nothing mushy.”

“I was thinking.”  Steve defends himself.

Tony just raises an eyebrow.  “Mushy.”  He says, like that’s the end of that.

 

======================================================================

 

            “James Buchanan Barnes.”  Becca screeches into the phone.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            Bucky winces and holds the phone a little further from his head.  “Jesus, Becks, you sound like Mom when you say that.”  He says, knowing full well it will annoy his sister and not caring in the least.  “And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know if I was going to be able to actually go out with him, and then I didn’t know if it was actually a thing, and I still don’t, but -”

            “You’re rambling.”  Becca cuts in.  “And freaking out about things that you don’t need to freak out over.”

            “I can’t even sleep properly.”  Bucky hisses.  “I should definitely be freaked out over kissing a guy with a kid!”

            Becca sighs, in that way that has always annoyed Bucky, because it makes her sound like she’s so much older and wiser than him when she’s most definitely not.  “Bucky.”  She says.  “First of all, don’t think we’re not talking about the sleep thing.  Three hours of sleep a night is not good.  Second, you like the guy, right?  So what’s the big deal?”

            Bucky nearly hangs up the phone.  “Are you not listening?”

            “I don’t listen to you when you’re being ridiculous.”  Becca says.

            “Goodbye.”  Bucky says, and hangs up.  

            It’s only when he glances down at the phone and realizes he called Becca at 1 in the morning that he thinks maybe she’s right he’s being ridiculous.  It’s been years since he was a dumb teenager worrying about what his date thought about him. 

            Fuck.  

            His phone rings.  “What?”

            “Figured it out yet?”  Becca asks him.  It’s a bit scary that she knows him that well.

            “Okay, so I’m being ridiculous.”  Bucky concedes.  “But it’s fucking terrifying.”

            Becca snorts.  “Well, duh.”  She says.  “How do you not know that?”

            And Bucky wants to tell her it’s because he hasn’t been in a relationship for the past 5 years.  But that’s a sure way to get Becca pointing out that he needs to go back to therapy, and that’s not a conversation he wants to have tonight.  

            But Becca is Becca, and Bucky can tell she already knows.  Thankfully, she doesn’t say what she probably should.  “Go to bed.”  She tells him instead.  “It’s late.” 

            Bucky hangs up with his sister, but he’s not tired enough to sleep.  Or, rather, he’s tired enough but not in the right frame of mind.

            Clint insists that knitting will help him relax enough to sleep, but Bucky still isn’t willing to look like that much of a grandpa.  So instead he digs through the backpack he takes back and forth to Muse each day until he finds the embroidery he started a few days ago.  Normally, he just uses it to pass the time at Muse, but he might as well give it a shot and see if it works as well as knitting does to calm his mind.

            He recently learned how to do French knots, and that’s what he tries focusing on.  There’s no particular design he’s working on this time.  It’s just a jumble of different colored floss and stitches and ideas on a single hoop, but that’s okay.  He rifles through his box of embroidery floss, finally picking out a bright, cheerful orange that seems strangely - hopeful.  And maybe hopeful is what Bucky needs right now.  

            The embroidery ends up working wonders.  About twenty minutes in, he’s barely able to keep his eyes open.  He shoves the supplies back into his backpack and staggers into bed.  For the first time in a while, laying his head on his pillow doesn’t seem so scary.  

 

========================================================================

 

            It sucks, on Friday, to realize that this is the last day Steve’s going to have an excuse to see Bucky every day.  Camp for kids Emmy’s age is wrapping up, and Steve’s pretty sure he can’t buy a new sketchbook every single day without Bucky noticing and his own finances taking a bit of a hit.  And without looking like a complete stalker, which probably is less than conducive to building a relationship. 

            But then Steve actually walks into Muse, Emmy propped on his hip, and sees Bucky frowning down at an embroidery hoop, and all he wants to do is kiss him silly.  Not exactly the most appropriate response. 

            “Morning.”  Bucky greets them, setting the hoop down in favor of reaching out and high-fiving Emmy across the counter.  She giggles and hides her face against Steve’s chest for a moment before turning and poking her tongue out at Bucky.  

            Steve hangs around as other parents drop their kids off, waving hello to the ones he knows from playgroups and the story time at the local library.  Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, like he’s fully aware that Steve is not, in fact, deciding between two identical pens. 

            “Just ask already.”  Bucky finally says.

            “I - what?”  Steve manages to say.  He mentally kicks himself.  He’s never been the smoothest of operators, but something about Bucky makes his brain shut off completely.  “I mean, what’d you say?”

            “You’re moping.”  Bucky says.  Steve opens his mouth to argue, but Bucky continues speaking.  “Wanna know how I can tell?  Those damn puppy dog eyes of yours.  So what is it?”

            “It’s Emmy’s last day of camp.”  Steve says. 

            “Okay.”  Bucky draws the word out, like he’s not really sure what Steve means by that.  

            “I probably won’t be in here as often.”  Steve says. 

            Now it seems to dawn on Bucky.  “Oh.  Well, then we’ll have to schedule more dates.”  He says, and maybe Bucky got all the smooth operator genes, if such a thing exists.  

            “Dates.”  Steve repeats, wondering why the hell he didn’t think of that sooner.  Right.  He and Bucky are - not dating, but going on dates.  There’s a difference, he thinks.  Maybe.  He’ll ask Darcy later to clarify.  But right now - “Yeah.  That’d be good.”

            Bucky grins.  “Cool.  Maybe this weekend?”

            Steve returns the grin.  “Yeah.  I’ll text you?”

            “Sounds good.”

            Steve waves goodbye to Emmy, who’s already engrossed in whatever artistic endeavour Clint has set up, and heads down the street to the coffee shop where he’s been hanging out while Emmy’s at camp.  He orders a coffee and pulls out his sketchbook.  He’s got a second project he’s working on now, a new kids’ book about eating your vegetables.  It’s straightforward enough work, the sort that he can do while thinking.  Which is good, because he’s definitely thinking about a certain man. 

            Bucky is - great.  Amazing, actually.  They’ve been texting in between dates and talking at Muse, dumb little exchanges with Bucky sending pictures of his embroidery or Steve talking about the mishaps Emmy got into that day.  It feels natural, something Steve hasn’t felt about a relationship since before Emmy was born.  What he’s looking for in a partner has changed since Emmy - in a good way, definitely.  But it’s still an adjustment.  And part of Steve wonders if Bucky even wants the same thing out of this - whatever it is as Steve does.  Because Steve is willing to admit he’s falling head over heels for Bucky.  He knows it’s fast, knows it’s probably too much too soon, but right now he doesn’t care.

            Later that night, over grown-up lemonade, both Natasha and Darcy tell Steve he’s probably going to get his heart broken.  They say that Bucky seems like a great guy - a great guy with too many issues of his own to take any relationship with a guy with a kid seriously.  Steve finds he doesn’t care.

            Bucky texts him around midnight.   _Can I call?_

Steve calls him instead.  “What’s up?”

            Bucky’s gasping for air, the panicked sort of breathing that Steve knows all-too-well means he’s having a panic attack.  “Steve.”  He manages to get out.  “Steve.”

            “It’s okay.”  Steve says.  He knows from experience how fucking terrifying panic attacks are, that overwhelming feeling that something, everything is wrong and it can’t be fixed.  “Bucky, stay with me.  Tell me what you see.”

            He walks Bucky through the grounding exercises his own therapist taught him when he came back from being deployed.  Bucky’s breathing goes from out of control to fast to finally within normal range.  He starts speaking in full sentences instead of the short bursts of words he had started with.  

            “I’m sorry.”  Bucky says when he finally gets his breathing under control.  “Fuck.”

            “Don’t be.”  Steve says, maybe too earnestly.  “It’s okay.”

            That appears to be the wrong thing to say.  “No, Steve, it’s not okay.”  Bucky snaps.  “Nothing is okay.  I’m fucked up and a mess and I wouldn’t have even fucking called you if my sister had picked up.”

            “Buck, I don’t care.”  Steve says, the nickname slipping out before he really gets the chance to think about it.  “I mean, we’re - we go on dates, right?  I’m here for you.  And I get it.”

            Bucky takes a deep breath, then another.  He sounds calmer the next time he speaks.  “Sorry.”  He says again.  “I didn’t mean to snap like that.  I just - fuck.  I like you, Steve, and my head is messed up more than my arm, and I don’t know what to do.  I don’t want to drag you into this mess.”

            Steve hears everything Bucky says.  He really does.  But he chooses to focus on one thing in particular.  “You like me?”  He repeats. 

            “Yes.”  Bucky huffs out a laugh.  “I like you.”

            “Good.”  Steve says.  “Because I like you too.”

            Bucky’s silent for a minute.  “I’m scared.”  He says finally.  “I am messed up, Steve.  Why aren’t you running away?”

            This is probably a conversation they should have in person.  It’s also probably a conversation that should be had during the day, not right before both of them go to bed.  Steve doesn’t care.  “I like you.”  He says a second time.  “And I know you’re dealing with a lot of shit, Bucky.  I dealt with a bunch of it too.  It doesn’t scare me.”

            “It scares me.”  Bucky says, too quiet, too vulnerable.  It breaks Steve’s heart. 

            “You're not alone, Bucky.”  Steve says.  “Okay?”

            “Yeah.”  Bucky takes another deep breath.  “Yeah, okay.”  Then, even quieter, “Thank you.”

            “Anytime.”  Steve says, and means it.

 

========================================================================

 

            Bucky wakes up on Saturday morning with a pounding headache.  He always gets them after bad panic attacks.  He has to push himself through his run, which turns into too much time to think.  

            He thinks about Steve.  He thinks about the words said over the phone, the promise that Bucky wasn’t alone in this fight and the admission that they liked each other, Steve’s bold statement that he wasn’t scared.  

            It hurts.  And isn’t that just fucked up, Bucky thinks.  He should be fucking happy that he has someone who cares enough about him to make sure he’s okay, to walk him through a panic attack and not just hang up and run away.  But it’s like he’s getting this taste of what normal could feel like.  He knows by now that he and normal don’t go together.  Not anymore. 

            Bucky doesn’t answer the text Steve sends him after breakfast.  He ignores the second text he gets later that afternoon.  He knows they sorta made plans, but maybe it would be better for both of them if he just went back to being the weird guy working at the art store and not - whatever they were turning into.  

            Morita comes and picks him up for the support group meeting, and Bucky spends half the meeting wondering if he should say something or if everyone will just laugh at him for bringing up something as inconsequential as his love life.  In the end, Sam makes the decision for him, in a way, by asking if anyone has anything they needed help with and Bucky blurts out every damn fear he has.

            Sam’s eyebrows go up a little, but he doesn’t seem all that taken aback by Bucky sounding like a high school girl.  “It’s hard.”  He agrees.  “You think that the other person will never understand you.  And sometimes they won’t, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be happy the rest of the time.”

            Others chime in, offering their own stories of learning how to manage relationships after coming home.  Bucky doesn’t know whether he should feel relieved or like a total idiot. 

            As they walk out, Morita claps a hand against Bucky’s shoulder.  “So you’re in love?”  He asks. 

            Bucky rubs at his stubble, wondering why he didn’t get around to shaving this morning.  “Something like that.”  He agrees.  “I just don’t want to bring my mess into his life.”

            “Yeah.”  Morita says thoughtfully.  “I hear that.”

            He doesn’t say more, but he really doesn’t need to.  Just knowing he isn’t alone in this has made Bucky feel infinitely better - and infinitely more guilty that he’s been ignoring Steve.

            Except Bucky doesn’t know how to explain over text everything he’s been thinking about for the past day, and it almost feels easier not to text at all.  But that’s a horrible idea too, and really, Bucky didn’t remember things being this complicated when he dated before.

            Morita drops him off with a promise to pick him up next week.  Bucky rummages around the kitchen, trying to find something to make for dinner.  He finally gives up and sends Steve a text.  _Sorry, bad day.  Coffee tomorrow?_

            Steve texts back a minute later.   _No worries.  Coffee sounds good.  10?_

The time between dinner on Saturday and Sunday morning seems to stretch out.  Bucky gets to the coffee shop 15 minutes early.  It seems Steve is just as - nervous?  Concerned?  Something - because he’s already there.  And Bucky feels like the biggest idiot when he sees the way Steve just fucking lights up when he sees Bucky.  

            “Are you doing okay?”  Steve asks, then stops himself.  “I mean -”

            Bucky stops him before Steve can worry too much about having said the wrong thing.  “Yeah.”  He says.  “I think I am.  I just - shit, this is going to get too deep.”

            Steve looks fucking earnest.  “It’s okay.”  He says.

            “I like you.”  Bucky says, repeating his earlier admission.  “And it scares the hell out of me, because you’ve got your life together and I don’t, and I don’t want to bring my mess into your life.”

            “Bucky.”  Steve starts, then stops.  “Okay, look.  I don’t have my life together.  I’m a few years ahead of you in the recovery process, that’s all.”  He shrugs.  “And have you met my kid?  I’m pretty sure my neighbors think I feed her nothing but candy and marshmallows.”

            Bucky snorts.  “Don’t you?”

            “I blame Clint.”  Steve says.  “But honestly, Buck, I don’t care if your life is a mess.  I mean, I do care, because I like you, but I’m okay with it.  It doesn’t scare me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

            And, of course, that is what Bucky’s worried about.  He’s terrified that he’ll get close to Steve and then Steve will decide Bucky’s too much.  He doesn’t know if he can cope with that.

            “I - yeah.”  Bucky says.  “I don’t want you to feel, I don’t know, obligated?”

            Steve looks at him with an incredulous expression.  “Obligated?”  He repeats.  “Bucky, I like you.  I want to be with you.  It’s not obligation, it’s me wanting to kiss you silly and talk to you for hours.”

            “Oh.  Okay.”  Bucky says.  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

            “Good.”  Steve says, and leans across the table to kiss Bucky.  

            “You’re kinda sappy.”  Bucky says when they break apart.  Steve blushes, that gorgeous red spreading from his face down his neck and under the collar of his shirt.

            “Yeah.”  He agrees.  Then, “That okay?”

            “Yeah.”  Bucky echoes.  “It’s okay.”

            And it is okay - not just Steve, but _this_ , whatever it is exactly.  Because Steve does get it.  Bucky forgets, sometimes, that Steve also had to adjust to coming home to a world that no longer made sense.  He understands in a way not everyone does.  It’s - comforting.  Nice. 

            “So.”  Steve says, kindly ignoring the fact that Bucky’s a little teary-eyed at the fact he has someone in his life - who isn’t related to him - who cares this much.  “Do you suck at tennis as much as you do at bowling?”

            “You’re the worst.”  Bucky complains.  He steals a bite of Steve’s chocolate chip muffin to get back at him.  “And yes.  Possibly worse.”

            “I don’t think that’s possible.”

            Bucky rolls his eyes.  “Thanks.”  He says with a laugh.  The conversation moves away from the heavy topics it started with, and Bucky finds himself relaxing.  He realizes he sabotages himself sometimes, that he sees happiness and runs away from it because it’s all so overwhelming.  But he wants to be around Steve. 

            An hour later, when Steve says he has to get home to Emmy and Natasha, Bucky gives Steve a quick kiss goodbye.  “Maybe dinner this week?”  He asks as they’re about to split up in the parking lot.

            “Yeah.”  Steve says.  He flashes a smile.  “I’d like that.”

           

========================================================================

 

            It’s weird, waking up on Monday morning and knowing he has no good reason to go into Muse and see Bucky.  But Steve is kept from dwelling on that too much by Emmy, who crashes through his door and jumps on the bed within moments of Steve opening his eyes.  

            “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.”  She chants, each word punctuated by jump.  “When are we going to see Uncle Clint?”

            “Camp’s over, sweetie.”  Steve says.  Emmy’s face crumples at his words, and she’s full out sobbing by the time he reaches out to grab her.  “Ems, what’s wrong?”

            “I don’t want it to be ooover.”  She wails.  “It’s too fun.”

            Steve hides a smile.  “We can do some art projects here.”

            “No.”  Emmy crosses her arms, tears forgotten temporarily.  “That’s not the same.”

            “I know, but we can still have fun.”  Steve says.  He thinks of the giant amount of kids’ art supplies he has shoved in the downstairs hall closet.  “We could get out the finger paint.”

            Emmy considers this.  “Maybe.”  She allows.  “Also I’m hungry.”

            “Breakfast first, then.”  

            The day passes by mostly uneventfully, Emmy agreeing to try painting at home and making a - thankfully washable - mess of Steve’s kitchen.  Steve’s currently regretting ever letting Emmy use glitter, because he knows everything she touches for the next week will sparkle.

            Steve and Bucky text back and forth throughout the day.  Steve had been worried after Bucky’s panic attack when he had ignored Steve’s texts.  But he also hadn’t wanted to push, because he knows what it’s like to feel so overwhelmed that the slightest thing can push you over the edge.  Still, he’d been thrilled when Bucky had asked him out for coffee. 

            Two days later - after meeting Bucky for lunch during his break from Muse - Steve and Emmy are at the park with Natasha.  He and Nat are sitting on a bench, watching Emmy go down the slide over and over again. 

            “How’s it going?”

            “You’ve already asked me that.”  Steve says.

            “I meant with Bucky.”  Natasha wiggles her eyebrows.  “He’s surprisingly good at withholding information.”

            “It’s - good.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Steve sighs.  “I don’t know, Nat.  I like him, maybe more than I’ve ever liked anyone.  And I think he feels the same way.  But we’re both scared.  And our lives are messy.”

            Nat gives him a look.  “Everyone’s life is messy.”  She says, and she has a point.  “You learn to deal with it.  If you like him, it’s worth it.”

 

=====================================================================

 

            Things keep moving forward - in a good way.  Bucky and Steve get coffee or lunch a couple times a week and text constantly.  Natasha proves to be the ultimate wingman, watching Emmy on almost no notice.  Bucky and Steve agree that they’re dating, which ends up being much less of a big deal than it seemed it would be, because of course they’re dating.  What else could they call it?

            Bucky keeps muddling through life.  Clint, despite possessing absolutely no decorating skills, comes over one night and helps him make his house look a little friendlier.  It’s nice, actually, waking up to a place that feels like a home.  Bucky didn’t realize how much it would help.  Clint also clues Bucky in on a grocery delivery service that doesn’t cost a fucking fortune, and it proves to be invaluable in actually making sure Bucky has real food in his house and not just stale bread and poptarts.

            That’s not to say life is perfect, because of course it’s not.  Bucky still has more nightmares than he’d like to admit.  He still struggles to get through life each day, flinching when a customer at Muse raises their voice or when the bar they go to for Taco Tuesdays gets too crowded.  But the support group has been helpful in that regard.  Bucky doesn’t feel so lost anymore.

            Steve’s birthday rolls around.  Natasha and Clint prove to be absolutely no help when it comes to presents.  Clint just make suggestive comments and winks a bunch, and Natasha tells Bucky that he’s the one dating Steve, not her.  

            Becca is slightly more help.  “Invite him over for dinner.”  She says.  “Let him see _you._ ”  

            So that’s what Bucky does.  He goes to the BBQ Steve hosts on the 4th and celebrates with everyone else.  He kisses Steve as the fireworks explode overhead and flips Tony off when the man shouts, “Mushy!”

            And then, the next night, Bucky has Steve over for dinner.  He planned on making steaks, but the combined weight of trying to cook and having someone over to his house drags him down into a funk.  He blames Becca for thinking of this idea and himself for thinking it was a good idea.  But he’s nothing if not determined, so he ditches the idea of steaks and turns to an old Barnes standby - breakfast for dinner.  

            Steve knocks on the door at quarter to seven.  He looks good, Bucky thinks, dressed in jeans and a nice shirt, one hand shoved in his pocket.  He grins at Bucky and pulls him in for a kiss. 

            “Hey.”  Bucky says.  “Happy Birthday.”

            Steve follows Bucky into the house.  Bucky’s grateful for the effort he and Clint put in to make it look somewhat presentable.  It reads more ‘lazy bachelor’ than ‘depressed hermit, which is definitely an upgrade. 

            “You look nice.”  Steve says as he follows Bucky into the kitchen.  

            Bucky reaches up, smoothing back his hair.  He normally ties it back, getting the long strands out of his face, but tonight he’d only pulled up some of it, letting the rest hang loose.  He’d gotten dressed up for the occasion, his outfit similar to Steve’s.  It feels nice, actually, dressing like a functioning person.

            “Thanks.”  Bucky says.  “So do you.”

            Steve grins.  “So what’s the plan?”  He asks.

            “Waffles and bacon.”  Bucky replies.  “Plus mimosas.”

            He’s a little nervous about how Steve will react to this odd dinner.  Steve, though, has a huge grin across his face.  “Really?  I love waffles!”

            “Dork.”  Bucky says affectionately, and Steve’s smile just widens.  

            The waffles - served Leslie Knope style with plenty of whipped cream - are a hit.  Steve grabs Bucky by the waist when he gets up to clear the table, and tugs him in close so that he’s standing between Steve’s legs.  

            “Hey.”  Steve says.  He laces their hands together, fingers twining.  “I really like you.” 

            Bucky’s pretty sure he’s blushing.  “I really like you too.”  He answers.  He ducks down so he can kiss Steve, a slightly sweet kiss that lingers on a little too long to be anything but suggestive.  

            They end up on the couch, dishes forgotten, Bucky straddling Steve’s lap.  They don’t do anything more than make out, but it feels like something shifts anyways.  Bucky hasn’t let himself feel this vulnerable since before he was deployed, but somehow he hasn’t felt this safe in about as long either.  It’s a strange feeling, one that will probably keep him up at night but that right now he just wants to cling to with everything he has.

            Steve captures Bucky’s lips again.  His hands, previously resting on Bucky’s hips, trail up his back.  They feel like the only point Bucky has to the physical world.  Everything else is floating.  

            “Wow.”  Bucky says when they break apart to breath.  “You’re good at that.”

            Steve laughs, a delighted sound that has Bucky grinning too.  “You’re not bad yourself.”  He says, then sucks the sensitive skin on Bucky’s neck.

            “Clint’s going to tease me for hours if I have a hickey.”  Bucky complains, but Steve looks too proud of himself to really be upset.  

            “Thanks, Buck.”  Steve says a little while later.  They’ve stopped making out like teenagers and are now stretched out on the couch, Bucky the little spoon.  They barely fit this way, but it’s comfy enough.

            “For what?”

            “For giving me an awesome birthday present.”  Steve says, and his voice is serious enough that Bucky knows he doesn’t mean the waffles or the making out.  “I - it means a lot to me, that you trust me.”

            Bucky hums in reply, giving himself a moment to get the words he wants to say in the right order.  “It’s nice, you know?  Having someone who gets it.  And of course I trust you.  You - you’re a good guy.”

            Steve doesn’t answer, and when Bucky cranes his head to see why, he sees that Steve’s blinking back a tear.  

            “You’re definitely a sap.”  Bucky says, and rolls so he’s facing Steve.  

            “Yeah.”  Steve agrees, and kisses Bucky.  

            Steve leaves around midnight with a final kiss.  “See you soon.”  He says, and it’s a promise.  Bucky watches him until his car has pulled out of the driveway and driven out of sight down the street.  Then he closes the door and takes a deep breath and wonders if this is what being in love feels like.

            The thing about being around Steve is that he feels human again, in a way that no one else has been able to make him feel.  Sure, it’s nice hanging out with Clint, and Taco Tuesdays are fun, but there isn’t as deep of a connection there.  But with Steve - Steve makes Bucky feel like the world isn’t as scary as a place as he thinks it is.  And that’s nothing short of a miracle, if Bucky’s being honest with himself.

            Yeah.  This has to be what falling in love feels like.

 

========================================================================

 

            The month of July seems to pass faster than it should, a blur of sunny days spent at the park with Emmy and going on dates with Bucky and working on illustrations for three new books.  Steve didn’t think he was unhappy before - he certainly had practically anything anyone sane could ask for - but he’s definitely happier now. 

            “Daddy?”  Emmy asks one day.  

            “What’s up?”

            “Uncle Tony said you and Bucky are kissing in a tree.”  

            Steve nearly spits out his orange juice.  Trust Tony to say something like that - Steve can practically hear him singing out the little ditty.  

            “Uh, that’s just a figure of speech.”  Steve says.  He’s met by Emmy’s confused face, scrunched up nose and furrowed eyebrows.

            “What’s that?”

            “He was joking.”  Steve says.  

            Emmy considers this.  “Okay.”  She says finally.  “Because kissing in trees is weird.”

            “Yeah.”  Steve agrees.  “Weird.”

            August has a busier start than Steve expects.  Clint goes out of town to some art store owners convention or something - no one’s really sure if he’s telling the truth or not - and so Bucky is left running the store on his own.  Steve might find reasons to drop in more often than usual, just because he knows how nervous Bucky is about being on his own.  But he does great, even if it does mean they go a whole week without a date because Bucky’s so exhausted by the end of each day.

            “We should hang out this weekend.”  Bucky says as Steve buys his third new sketchbook of the week.  “Not Saturday, I have to work.  But maybe Sunday?”

            Steve nods.  “Just let me see if I can get a babysitter.”  He says. 

            Of course - and it would happen this week, after a week of only being able to text Bucky - none of his friends are able to babysit.  He even calls his parents, but they’ve got plans too.

            “I’m sorry, Buck.”  Steve says that night when he calls to tell Bucky the news.  “I’ve got no one to watch Emmy.”

            “It’s okay.”  Bucky says, but Steve can hear the disappointment in his voice.  Hell, he feels pretty disappointed too.  “Um - she could come with us.  We could go down to the beach or something.”  Steve doesn’t say anything - too overwhelmed - and Bucky rushes to add, “We don’t have to.  It’s cool.  We can just find a time next week.”

            “I’d love to go to the beach with you and Emmy.”  Steve says when he realizes that Bucky mistook his silence for being upset.  “That - you really want to hang out with my kid?”  
            “She’s your kid.”  Bucky says, like that should make everything clear.  “She’s important.  I mean, if you don’t want me to hang out with her, that’s fine, but I just figured -”  He trails off, like he doesn’t know what to say, but Steve knows.

            “That’s - that’s really sweet.  And yeah, I’d love that.  It’d be good.”  He scratches behind his ear.  “Uh, just a heads up.  Tony taught her a certain little song, so now she thinks we kiss in trees.”  
            Bucky barks out a laugh.  “I’d kiss you anywhere.”  He says, and somehow it sounds sweet and dirty all at once.

            “Dork.”  Steve says, voice full of affection.  “I’ll swing by your place around one, then, on Sunday?”

            Emmy is excited that Bucky is coming to the beach with them.  Steve’s still not sure how to explain that he’s in a relationship with someone to a three year old, but Emmy at least seems to understand that he’s spending time with Bucky - and, perhaps more importantly, she hasn’t thrown a fit about it yet.  

            “Daddy?”  Emmy asks as they pull up to Bucky’s house on Sunday afternoon.  “Can Bucky go in the water?  Can robots do that?”

            “Uh, I think so.”  Steve says, because he hadn’t really considered that.  “You can ask Bucky.”

            Bucky opens the door to the passenger seat and is immediately bombarded by questions.  “Can your robot arm get wet?  Will it explode?  Can robots swim?  Do they sink?  I can float.  Daddy taught me how.  I can teach you, if you want.”

            “Hi, Emmy.”  Bucky says with a laugh.  “Yeah, my arm can get wet and no, it won’t explode.  And I know how to swim.”

            Emmy nods.  “That’s good.”  She says.  “‘Cause that’s what you do at the beach.”

            Bucky grins and settles into his seat.  Steve returns the smile.  He’s not quite ready to kiss in front of his daughter, as much as he wants to kiss Bucky, but luckily Bucky seems to get that.  

            The town of Warren is on the lake, and there’s a good six or seven miles of clean beachfront only about a fifteen minute drive from Bucky’s house.  It takes what feels like forever to unpack everything Emmy had insisted on bringing from the car, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind.  He grabs the bag of sand toys from the trunk and grins at Emmy.  

            “Race you!”  He yells.  Emmy drops Steve’s hand and tears off across the boardwalk to the sandy beach.  Bucky keeps pace with her for the first few seconds before making a show of running out of breath and finally admitting defeat when Emmy reaches the sand first.  

            Steve watches them with a smile.  Bucky’s good with kids, he realizes, something that makes his heart feel extra full today.  He doesn’t have the same reserve around Emmy as he does around most adults.  It’s kinda special to watch, actually.  The pair are already staking out the best spot on the beach, their voices drifting back to Steve.  Bucky’s spreading out beach towels at Emmy’s direction, setting up the umbrella just so.  It’s - it’s really fucking cute, actually, and Steve kinda wants to propose then and there, even though he knows he and Bucky haven’t actually known each other that long and he’d look like a crazy person.

            So instead he picks up his folding chair and the cooler full of snacks and cool drinks and makes his way across the sand to where Emmy is impatiently waiting for him.  

            “Let’s go swimming!”  She demands, tugging on his free hand.  Then, unprompted, she reaches out and grabs Bucky’s hand too.  Only, Steve realizes a second too late, she’s grabbed his prosthetic.  He freezes, not sure how either Bucky or his daughter are going to react.  Bucky flinches at the sudden movement, but he recovers quickly.  Emmy, to her credit, just says, “Can you feel me holding your hand?” with the sort of curiosity only little kids can get away with.

            “Sorta.”  Bucky says.  “I can tell there’s something touching my hand, but I can’t tell the difference between a person or a book.”

            Emmy giggles.  “I’m not a book.”  She says, and that’s the end of it.

            Bucky meets Steve’s eyes over Emmy’s head.  He’s smiling, the sort of authentic smile that comes rarely to him.  Yeah, Steve’s pretty sure he’s madly in love with this man. 

            “Race you to the water!”  Emmy shrieks, dropping their hands and taking off before either man realizes what she said.  They run after her, stopping only when the first light waves lap at their feet. 

            They play in the water for a while, until Emmy declares she’s “zaw-sted.”  From there, they retreat to the beach towels, where Steve insists on applying a liberal amount of sunscreen onto everyone.  Then they settle into the shade provided by the beach umbrella, setting to work on making a sandcastle. 

            Bucky’s hand keeps brushing over Steve’s, a barely noticeable touch that still has Steve’s heart racing every time.  He and Bucky meet each other’s gazes over Emmy’s head, and Steve is pretty sure they’re wearing matching lovesick expressions.  He wants to kiss Bucky, more than anything, but not in front of Emmy.  Not yet, anyway.  He needs to explain things to her first.  

            “The castle needs a flag.”  Emmy says.  “And a moat.”  She grabs Bucky’s hand.  “Come find shells with me.  Daddy, you build the moat.”  

            “What?”  Steve sputters, because apparently Emmy has already decided Bucky is cooler than he is.  Bucky shoots him a smug grin over his shoulder as he follows Emmy down towards the water.  

            Steve watches them, his heart a little too full.  Emmy is chattering away, her voice carrying back to him on the strong ocean breeze.  Bucky is quieter - as always - but he doesn’t seem to mind the nonstop talking.  Every few moments, he bends down and picks up a shell for Emmy’s inspection.  The best go in her bucket, the others are returned to the sand “for other people, okay, Bucky?”. 

            They make an odd couple.  Emmy, like most little kids, is comfortable in her own skin, happy and carefree.  Bucky’s still got that hunch to his shoulders that Steve knows is his physical defense against the world, but when he turns back to look at Steve he’s got a wide smile on his face.  Life - life is really good.

            “You’re a sap.”  Bucky says when he and Emmy return, plastic bucket overflowing with shells and cool rocks.  

            “You’re cute.”  Steve replies, almost automatically, and Bucky beams at him.  

            “I’m adorable.”  Emmy interjects.  Bucky and Steve both break out laughing.  Steve pulls her in for a hug.

            “You are.”  He agrees.  “The most adorablest.”  

            “You’re making me all _sandy_.”  Emmy says.  She wiggles away from Steve and returns to her bucket of shells and stones, going through each one and deciding where on her sandcastle it should go.  As she works, Bucky sits down on the beach towel next to Steve.  Steve throws an arm around Bucky, pulling him closer. 

            “This is nice.”  Steve says. 

            “Really nice.”  Bucky agrees.  Then, so quiet that Steve’s not sure if Bucky means for him to hear it or not, “Almost perfect.”

            Steve’s heart clenches, because all he wants right now is to make Bucky’s life perfect, as unrealistic as he knows that is.  

            It doesn’t take much longer for Emmy to tire completely.  She practically faceplants in the sand, and that’s when Steve declares beach day is over.  They shake the sand out of the towels and pack up.  Bucky packs up the beach toys while Steve buckles Emmy into her carseat.  

            Steve’s fairly certain Emmy is asleep, so he risks leaning across the center console to kiss Bucky goodbye.  “Thanks, Buck.  I had a really great time.  And so did Emmy.”

            Bucky smiles, and it reaches his eyes.  “Me, too.”  He says.  “We should do this again sometime.”

            He’s halfway out of the car when a sleepy little voice calls out, “Wait!”  Emmy rubs her eyes and then fishes through her pile of beach finds she insisted on keeping.  She hands him a small, smooth stone.  “For you.”  She says.  “It’s sparkly, like your arm.” 

            Bucky is solemn when he takes it from her.  “Thank you, Emmy.”  He says.  He turns back to Steve.  “Text me, okay?”

            “Yeah.”  Steve agrees.  He waits for Bucky to let himself into the house before driving off.  He has to carry Emmy inside their own home, plopping her on the couch before he remembers she’s still covered in sand.  Oh well.

            Today had been really great, Steve thinks, as he sets to work making dinner.  Beyond great, really.  He liked seeing his family and his boyfriend together.  It feels nice.  Like they’re supposed to be together.

 

=======================================================================

 

            The shelter is a noisy place, and part of Bucky wants to call off this expedition, call it a horrible mistake and turn around.  But Clint just slaps him on the back and guides him up to the adoptions desk.  And _fuck_ , Bucky misses having a dog.  So he steps forward and clears his throat.

            “Hi.  Uh, I’m interested in adopting a dog.”  He says. 

            The woman at the desk beams at him.  “Wonderful!”  She says.  “Come on back.”  She leads him towards the noise, a cacophony of barking that has Bucky flinching a little.  But he wants this, so he goes towards it anyways.  Clint’s got his six if anything goes wrong.  

            “What size dog are you thinking of?”  The woman asks.

            “Uh -”  Fuck.  He hadn’t thought that far.  The idea of a dog was pretty ambiguous until last week, when he’d talked with one of the Marines at the support group who had suggested the same thing as Clint - get a dog.  “Um, medium to big?  But really friendly.  And, uh, good with kids.” 

            Clint has a wicked grin on his face that Bucky ignores.  He and Steve are officially dating.  He should be thinking about what’s right for Steve too, and that’s making sure he has a dog that likes kids so Emmy will be safe.

            “I’d like you to meet Echo.”  The woman opens one of the kennels, revealing a gorgeous young dog with a tail going a million miles a minute.  Echo is a mix of several breeds, that much is clear.  She’s got mostly long white fur, with black patches over her left eye and ear and scattered across her back.  She takes one look at Bucky and launches herself at him, dancing around his legs until he sinks to the ground to meet her properly.  She immediately starts licking him.  Bucky wraps his arms around her.  She feels - safe.  Steady. 

            “I - she’s perfect.”  Bucky says.  “What do I need to do to adopt her?”

            It takes about an hour to sort out paperwork and go through all the information Bucky needs to know about Echo.  She’s been in the shelter for two months, having been abandoned after not quite qualifying to be a service dog.  The whole time they’re waiting for everything to be finished up, Echo sits next to Bucky, her head resting on his leg.  It’s like she knows he’s the reason she’s getting out of this place. 

            The next stop is the pet store.  Clint is like a kid in a candy store - which, Bucky thinks, would be absolutely terrifying to actually witness - and soon their cart is piled high with two dog beds, plenty of food, and a ridiculous number of toys and treats.  

            Clint drops them off with a promise to check in and see how things are going and a threat that Echo better start coming to work with Bucky _or else._  Bucky thinks he may have been replaced by his dog in Clint’s mind.  Oh well. 

            Echo spends the next few minutes racing around the house, sniffing out all the new scents and checking out her new digs.  Bucky takes the time to unload the car and text Steve. 

            _Got the dog._ He sends.  He’d spent hours talking to Steve about whether or not this was the right choice.  It feels right now, if not a little overwhelming.

            _Pictures?_  Steve sends back almost immediately.  

            “Echo!  Come here, girl.”  Bucky manages to take a single shot of Echo before the pup takes off again.  He sends it to Steve and gets - to his utter shock and surprised, given Steve’s inability to use and utter dislike of emojis - three little heart eyed emojis in reply.  

            Steve calls a minute later.  “Emmy is demanding to meet the puppy.”  He says with a laugh.  “Can we drop by sometime after dinner?”

            “Yeah.”  Bucky says.  He watches Echo try and fail to skid to a stop on the hardwood floor and instead crash into the fridge.  “Emmy’ll love Echo.  She’s a sweetie.”

            Hearing her name, Echo comes running over and starts licking Bucky’s hand.  Bucky bids Steve farewell and turns his attention to the dog. 

            “How about a walk?”  He asks her, and she must know the word because she somehow gets even more excited.  Bucky takes her for a trip around the neighborhood, a short walk that only takes them a few blocks.  Echo’s overwhelmed by the sights and smells, and her tail doesn’t stop wagging. 

            By the time they get back and have both eaten, Steve and Emmy have arrived.  Emmy is practically bursting with excitement.  She squeals when she sees Echo.  Bucky warns Steve that Echo may be a little over-enthusiastic in her greetings, but to his surprise Echo is much calmer around Emmy.  The two are soon fast friends, and Steve and Bucky sit on the steps of Bucky’s back porch as they watch Emmy and Echo play in the backyard.

            “I think you made the right decision.”  Steve says.  “She seems like a good dog.”

            “Yeah.”  Bucky says.  “I - I’m glad you convinced me.  Well, you and Clint and Sam and - everyone, really.”

            That night, Bucky curls up in bed with a comforting presence at his feet.  Echo makes herself right at home on the bed, tucked up against the curve in Bucky’s legs.  Bucky feels like he can finally close his eyes and not worry about the weight of the entire world coming crashing down over him.

            He still has a nightmare.  But this time, he’s barely flailing awake when Echo has pounced on his chest and started licking his face.  It helps ground him faster than any exercises have.  He wraps an arm around her, sinks his hand into her soft fur, and thinks that maybe Echo will help him more than he thought.

            Over the next few weeks, Bucky learns that Echo likes to chew on dog bones and his sneakers.  She calms down, though, once she realizes that she has a new home, and soon Bucky feels comfortable bringing her into work and not having to worry about her knocking someone over.  She lies at his feet most of the day, though she does spend a fair amount of time begging for treats from Clint, who is only too happy to oblige. 

            Steve and Emmy are more frequent visitors to Bucky’s house now.  At first, it was strange, having people over so often.  But Emmy is content to play in the yard with Echo while Bucky and Steve have a few quiet moments to themselves.  

            It’s one of those nights, partway through August, that Steve leans forward mid-conversation to kiss Bucky.  “I really like you.”  He says.

            Bucky grins.  “I really like you too.”  He answers.  “But what was that for?”

            Steve shrugs.  “Just - being you.  And letting me be part of your life.”

            “I should be saying that to you.”  Bucky says, only half-joking.  “And I like having you be part of my life.”

            “Good.”  Steve smiles.  Their hands are intertwined between them, and Steve looks down at them before looking back up at Bucky.  “That’s good.”

            When Emmy tires of playing, they head inside.  Bucky doesn’t have much to keep a little kid occupied, but Steve luckily thought ahead and pulls out his ever-present sketchbook and colored pencils.  Emmy gets to work drawing a “princess riding a dragon in the sky and also there’s going to be ice cream”.  Steve, on the other hand, asks if he can draw Bucky.  Self-conscious as he is, Bucky agrees. 

            That night, when Steve and Emmy leave, Bucky has two new pieces of art to hang up.  One is Steve’s drawing, a drawing showing the intricate design of Bucky’s prosthetic hand.  Bucky had nearly cried when Steve gave it to him.  That his prosthetic could look so beautiful was something Bucky had never thought possible.

            “That’s how I see it.”  Steve shrugs.  “It’s part of you, so it’s just as amazing as you are.”

            “Sap.”  Bucky says, even if he’s the teary-eyed one.

            The second drawing is Emmy’s, and it gets a place of pride on his fridge.  

            Things keep going - and going well.  More nights than not, now, he spends either out with Clint and Natasha or hanging around with Steve and Emmy.  He’s not alone anymore.  And he’s honestly not sure when that happened, when he went from hermit to fucking social, but he likes it.  

            Steve calls one afternoon in an absolute panic.  “Buck, can you babysit?”  He says.  “Just for like, two hours.  I have a meeting downtown that got thrown at me and I can’t miss it.”

            Bucky feels a brief moment of fear.  Babysitting means being responsible for the life of someone else.  He’s not good at that.  But then he pulls himself together and agrees.

            Emmy is a good kid, if a little hyper.  She finds them both colorful feather boas to wear and insists on having a tea party, and Bucky can honestly say he’s having a good time.  Over lemonade and cookies, Emmy bombards him with a series of questions about everything from Echo to his arm and pretty much everything in between.  From anyone else, Bucky would find the questions overwhelming.  But he’s got a soft spot for Emmy. 

            The time passes quickly, and when Steve comes through the front door, Emmy starts crying that she doesn’t want Bucky to leave, ever.  Steve and Bucky exchange smiles at that.  Bucky has to squash down the feeling that he doesn’t want to leave either.  He’s found - not a family, at least not yet, but people he fits with.  And that’s pretty damn nice. 

            Steve distracts Emmy with legos and walks Bucky to the door.  

            “Thanks.”  He says.  “I really appreciate you watching Ems.”

            “Anytime.”  Bucky says, and means it.  “She’s a special little kid.”

            Steve’s face lights up like it always does when he talks about his daughter.  “She is.”  He agrees.  “And you’re a special person.”

            Emmy is not impressed when she finds them kissing in the hallway.

 

========================================================================

 

            Steve thinks he might start crying.  No, scratch that.  He’s already crying.  

            “Pull yourself together.”  Natasha says.  “It’s not that big of deal.”

            But it is a big deal, a huge fucking deal that Steve isn’t sure how he’s going to manage.  He’s already feeling overwhelmed and underprepared and terrified of everything that could happen.

            “Nat.”  He says, when it becomes clear she doesn’t share the same worries as he does, “What if she hates it here?”

            They’re currently taking one final tour of the preschool Steve had picked out for Emmy.  She’ll be starting in just a few short weeks, and Steve is not at all ready to send his baby off to preschool.  She seems too little.  Some of the kids here will tower over her. 

            “How can any kid hate this place?”  Natasha asks.  And she has a point.  The preschool is housed in a cute little cottage-style house, with brightly painted rooms and an explosion of fun toys and activities.  There’s a playground in the backyard.  The teachers all seem lovely, and Steve knows he’s making the right decision.  He just can’t believe how fast his little girl is growing up.

            That’s why he has Natasha here.  Bucky is working, and Steve needed someone to stay practical while he has an emotional breakdown over his daughter growing up.  So Natasha continues to point out all the amazing things the preschool has to offer, and the woman giving them the tour kindly ignores Steve’s sniffles, and finally Steve agrees this is the right place and fills out the final pieces of paperwork to enroll Emmy.

            “The first few days might be tough.”  The lead teacher warns him.  “Expect some tears.  But they’ll stop pretty quickly, and I promise your daughter will have a wonderful time.”

            Steve texts Bucky as they leave to let him know that he’s picked the preschool.  Bucky texts back a few minutes later: _Stop worrying so much._

            “He knows you too well.”  Natasha says, reading over Steve’s shoulder.  

            That afternoon, after Steve’s picked Emmy up from Tony’s, he sits her down at the kitchen table and tells her about the preschool.  He makes it sound as wonderful as he can, terrified that she’ll throw a fit or say she doesn’t want to go. 

            Instead, she shrugs.  “Okay.”  She says.  “Can I have snack now?”

            Natasha snorts.  “She took that horribly.”  She says, throwing Steve a sharp grin.  

            “She might have more questions later.”  Steve defends. 

            As it turns out, though, Emmy only has one question for Steve about starting preschool.  

            “Can Bucky come too?”

            “What, to preschool?  It’s just for kids, not grownups like me and Bucky.”  Steve says, even though his heart is about to burst that Emmy thinks so highly of Bucky.  

            Emmy sighs, looking frustrated at Steve’s apparent inability to understand.  “You said it’s like going to camp with Uncle Clint.”  She says.  “I want Bucky to come too.”

            “You want me and Bucky to drop you off at preschool?”  Steve clarifies. 

            “Yeah!”  Emmy jumps up and down.  “Please?  I want him to see my school too.”

            “I’ll ask him.”  Steve promises.  Satisfied, Emmy turns her attention back to the Lego tower she’s building.  

            Steve calls Bucky later that night.  “So, can you take that Wednesday off?”  He asks.  “Emmy would really love it if you are there to drop her off too.”

            There’s silence on the other end of the line, and for a minute Steve wonders if this is too much, too soon, too fast.  He’s about to backpedal, about to tell Bucky that he doesn’t have to, when Bucky finally finds his voice. 

            “She - she really wants me there?”  He says.  “She said that?”

            “She’s insisting.”

            “I’d love that.”  Bucky takes a deep breath.  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

           

========================================================================

 

            It’s early enough in September that it feels more like summer than fall.  Bucky walks the distance to Steve’s house, Echo’s leash in one hand.  She trots besides him, a reassuring presence.  Things have been getting better lately, thanks to her and Steve and Clint and the support group and everyone else who’s helped him sort out the mess that’s his head.  Nothing’s quite there yet, but he finally feels like there’s hope that he’ll get somewhere close to normal one day.

            Emmy and Steve are outside the house waiting for him.  Emmy’s dressed in a cute blue romper and her dark hair is tied back in two neat pigtails.  She’s got a little backpack on, and Bucky has to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat.  He has no clue why he’s getting all emotional about this.

            Steve gives him a shaky smile.  “We’ve been up since four.”  He says.  “Emmy’s ready to go.”

            “Well, then.”  Bucky says, bending down to give Emmy a hug.  “Let’s get going then.”

            Emmy skips ahead of them as they walk the few blocks to the preschool, chattering away to Echo about all the new friends she’s going to make and the toys she’s going to play with.  Bucky slips his hand in Steve’s.

            “Hang in there.”  He says. 

            As they near the preschool, Emmy’s excitement gives way to nerves.  She slows down, reaching out first for Steve’s hand and then for Bucky’s.  Her fingers wrap around Bucky’s, a tight grip that suggests she’s relying on him to be big and strong for her.  And Bucky - Bucky’s okay with that. 

            It feels like he’s walking into his new life, with his dog and Steve and Emmy by his side.  And it feels right to have them there. 

 


End file.
